HISTORICAL 


EADER 


HENRY£J.U 


HEPHERB 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

.   <  ilKX  OK 


Received  J/cnJ~       , 

Accession  No.    0  I  V  /  £  .    CA/ss  No. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS 

FOR  THE  USE  OF 

TEACHERS  READING   CIRCLES 


BY 

HENRY  E.  SHEPHERD,  M.A.,  LL.D. 

PRESIDENT   OF  THE   COLLEGE   OF  CHARLESTON,  SOUTH    CAROLINA  ;    LATE   SUPERINTENDENT 
OF   PUBLIC   INSTRUCTION,    BALTIMORE,    MARYLAND 


NEW  YORK  •:•  CINCINNATI  •:•  CHICAGO 

AMERICAN    BOOK     COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1881,  1884, 
BT  D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 

CopTRinnr.  1893,  BY 
AMERICAN  BOOK  COMPANY. 

BHEP.   1U6T.   BD08. 

w.  ?.  a 


PKEFACE. 


THE  study  of  history  is  a  subject  demanding  the 
gravest  consideration  as  well  as  the  most  delicate  treat- 
ment. The  most  serious  error  that  prevails  in  connec- 
tion with  this  subject  is  the  defective  and  vicious  method 
by  which  the  teachers  of  history  are  fettered  and  em- 
barrassed. Epitomes  or  abridgments  are  comparatively 
valueless,  except  for  those  who  have  already  acquired  a 
knowledge  of  the  subject  which  the  epitome  or  abridg- 
ment professes  to  treat. 

The  difficulty  of  condensing  or  abridging  any  his- 
torical narrative,  without  destroying  its  very  life  and 
spirit,  is  one  long  felt  and  recognized.  The  disadvan- 
tages of  the  compendium  are  commented  upon  by  Bacon, 
in  his  great  work  on  "  The  Advancement  of  Learning," 
in  which  abridgments  are  styled  "the  corruptions  and 
moths  of  history."  A  similar  judgment  is  to  be  inferred 
from  Coke's  advice  to  students  of  law,  not  to  depend 
upon  summaries  or  outlines  of  cases,  but  to  consult  the 
original  and  explicit  report.  This  coincidence  of  opinion 


•HIP.  HIST.  RDG8. 


iv  PREFACE. 

is  the  more  striking  from  the  fact  that  it  was,  probably, 
one  of  the  few  points  in  regard  to  which  these  illustrious 
rivals  ever  concurred.  Indeed,  the  difficulty  of  making 
a  successful  abridgment  is  recognized  as  far  back  in 
antiquity  as  the  era  of  the  Apocrypha,  in  which  it  is 
commented  upon  with  considerable  earnestness  in  one 
of  the  books  of  the  Maccabees. 

In  modern  times,  the  subject  of  studying  history,  as 
well  as  the  different  modes  in  which  the  study  may  be 
taught,  has  been  discussed,  with  great  learning  and  clear- 
ness of  judgment,  by  Smyth  in  his  u  Lectures  on  Modern 
History,"  Dr.  Thomas  Arnold  in  his  "Lectures  on  M«'<1 
ern  History,"  John  Stuart  Mill  in  his  address  before  the 
University  of  St.  Andrews,  Latham  in  his  treatise  upon 
the  "Action  of  Examinations,"  Dr.  Wiese  in  his  great 
work  upon  the  government  and  regulation  of  the  Ger- 
man schools,  Quick  in  his  "Educational  Reformers," 
Bishop  Dupanloup  in  his  valuable  works  on  education, 
Fe'nelon  in  his  letter  to  the  French  Academy,  Bain  in  his 
"  Education  as  a  Science,"  to  say  nothing  of  numberless 
essays  upon  the  subject  contained  in  various  educational 
journals.  Names  and  authorities  might  be  multiplied  to 
an  indefinite  extent,  but  those  cited  will  suffice  to  show 
the  amount  of  interest  the  question  has  elicited  from  en- 
lightened educationists  in  our  own  and  preceding  times. 

The  fatal  defect  in  the  compendium  is  that  it  obscures 
the  processes  by  which  historical  results  are  attained ;  it 
deals  in  comprehensive  generalizations,  and  yet  fails  to 
exhibit  the  data  upon  which  the  generalizations  are  based ; 


SHIP.  HIST.  BDGS. 


PREFACE.  v 

it  destroys  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect,  and  bewilders 
the  mind  with  a  complexity  of  details,  whose  significance 
we  are  unable  to  perceive  or  to  apprehend.  For  a  teacher 
to  introduce  his  pupils  fresh  from  the  grammar-school 
course  into  a  text-book  of  history,  so  arranged  and  con- 
structed that  it  requires,  for  its  proper  appreciation,  a 
previous  or  an  independent  knowledge  of  the  very  sub- 
ject it  professes  to  teach,  is  an  anomaly  that  ought  not  to 
be  tolerated  in  an  age  characterized  by  great  advances  in 
methods  of  instruction. 

It  is  one  of  the  defects  of  the  compendium  method 
that  it  not  only  prevents  us  from  discovering  the  signifi- 
cance and  relation  of  events,  but  encourages  us  to  draw 
inferences  and  form  impressions  that  are  utterly  errone- 
ous and  misleading.  Its  abuses  are  positive  as  well  as 
negative.  In  all  literary  as  well  as  historical  study,  pre- 
cipitate generalization  is  the  characteristic  weakness.  I 
wish  that  every  teacher  of  history  and  literature  would 
carefully  study  Matthew  Arnold's  Introduction  to  his 
edition  of  Johnson's  "  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  Carlyle's 
"  Essay  on  Croker's  Edition  of  Boswell's  Johnson,"  and 
Meiklejohn's  "  Essay  on  the  Teaching  of  English  Litera- 
ture," in  Kiddle  and  Schem's  "  Educational  Cyclopaedia." 

I  am  aware  how  easy  all  purely  negative  criticism  is, 
and  how  difficult  as  wrell  as  delicate  a  task  it  is  to  dis- 
cover adequate  remedies  for  existing  evils.  So  far  as  the 
question  of  history  is  concerned,  I  do  not  think  that  a 
solution  is  hopeless.  I  have  long  advocated  the  begin- 
ning of  history  teaching  by  the  use  of  graphic  and  lively 


BHKP.  HIST.  EDG8. 


vi  PREFACE. 

sketches  of  those  illustrious  characters  around  whom  the 
historic  interest  of  each  age  is  concentrated.  Such  books 
as  Abbott's  Lives  of  "  Hannibal,"  "  Caesar,"  "  Richard 
III,"  "  Mary  Stuart,"  "  Elizabeth,"  "  Louis  XIV,"  "  Na- 
poleon," etc.,  written  in  narrative  style,  and  presenting 
history  in  concrete,  biographical  form,  are  vastly  supe- 
rior to  the  ordinary  compendiums  as  an  introduction  to 
the  study  of  history.  For  "  history  is  the  essence  of  in- 
numerable biographies,"  and  from  the  very  constitution 
of  the  human  mind,  which,  in  language,  in  morals,  and 
in  philosophy,  first  apprehends  truth  in  the  concrete,  it 
would  seem  unwise  to  introduce  the  study  of  history 
without  exhibiting  it  in  concrete  forms. 

The  present  work  is  an  endeavor  to  test,  by  actual 
experiment,  the  correctness  of  the  views  set  forth  above. 
The  work  consists  of  a  collection  of  extracts  represent- 
ing the  purest  historical  literature  that  has  been  pro- 
duced in  the  different  stages  of  our  literary  development, 
from  the  time  of  Clarendon  to  the  era  of  Macaulay  and 
Prescott.  There  has  been  no  attempt  to  preserve  chrono- 
logical order,  the  design  of  the  work  being  to  present 
typical  illustrations  of  classic  historical  style,  gathered 
mainly  from  English  and  American  writers.  Most  of 
the  extracts  are  descriptive,  clear,  and  suggestive.  To 
create  and  develop  a  fondness  for  historical  study — a 
sentiment  that  the  compendium  can  never  infuse,  but 
which,  on  the  contrary,  it  tends  to  repress  and  extinguish 
— have  been  my  constant  aim  and  endeavor.  Every  era 
of  historical  development,  from  the  rise  of  Athenian 


•UIP.  HIST.  RDG8. 


PREFACE.  vii 

greatness  to  the  accession  of  Victoria,  has  been  carefully 
represented.  Many  of  the  selections  have  never  appeared 
in  any  previous  historical  reader.  A  liberal  share  has 
been  assigned  to  the  delineation  of  historical  characters. 
The  greater  number  of  those  eminent  personages  around 
whom  the  interest,  especially  of  modern  history,  concen- 
trates, are  drawn  by  some  one  of  our  historical  portrait 
painters,  as  Burnet,  Clarendon,  Lecky,  Froude,  or  Ma- 
caulay. 

The  editor  assumes  no  responsibility  for  the  varied 
delineations,  and  the  differing  estimates  of  character  that 
may  be  discovered  in  the  work.  The  book  is  totally  de- 
void of  sectarian  or  partisan  tendencies,  the  aim  being 
simply  to  instill  a  love  for  historical  reading,  and  not  to 
suggest  opinions,  or  inculcate  views,  in  regard  to  any  of 
those  great  civil  and  religious  revolutions  whose  effects 
and  whose  influence  must  remain  open  questions  till  the 
last  act  in  the  historical  drama  shall  be  completed.  It  is 
hoped  that,  if  the  book  is  used  with  intelligence  and  dis- 
crimination, it  may  stimulate  its  readers  to  seek  an  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  the  great  masters  of  history  rep- 
resented in  its  pages.  Prescott,  Motley,  Irving,  Froude, 
and  Macaulay  can  be  read  with  appreciative  pleasure  by 
most  people  of  ordinary  intelligence,  and  if  the  "  historic 
sense  "  is  once  developed,  the  student  can  gradually  rise 
to  the  study  of  the  great  philosophical  historians — Grote, 
Yon  Ranke,  Freeman,  Bryce,  and  Guizot. 

This  kind  of  historical  reading  is  especially  necessary 
for  all  teachers  of  history.  It  gives  them  that  compre- 

0HBP.  HI8T.  BDG8, 


viii  PREFACE. 

hensive  grasp  of  the  subject  without  which  no  good 
results  are  possible.  Too  often  the  teacher  of  hi>t<»rv 
knows  very  little  more  than  his  pupils,  of  the  subject  lu- 
is  trying  to  teach,  and  when  some  earnest,  intelligent 
scholar  asks  questions,  the  answers  to  which  are  not  to 
be  found  in  the  ordinary  text-books,  such  a  teacher  finds 
himself  completely  at  sea,  and  is  obliged  either  to  con- 
fess his  ignorance  or  to  give  some  evasive  answer.  Ex- 
tensive reading  of  the  kind  suggested  in  this  book  will 
prevent  such  embarrassment  on  the  part  of  the  teacher  ; 
it  will  give  him  that  general  information  which  will  en- 
able him  to  enter  the  class-room  fully  equipped  for  all 
the  emergencies  which  may  arise ;  and  it  will  .-timulatu 
him  to  encourage,  rather  than  to  evade,  intelligent  ques- 
tions on  the  part  of  his  pupils. 

The  intention  of  notes  and  comments  is  to  sui: 
new  lines  of  thought,  and  to  develop  a  taste  for  more 
extended  investigation.  A  more  varied  range  of  selec- 
tions might  easily  have  been  made,  but  my  experience 
as  a  teacher  of  history  and  literature  has  convinced  me 
that  in  no  department  are  moderation  and  concentration 
more  necessary.  The  attempt  to  compass  all  history  and 
all  literature  results  in  confusion,  bewilderment,  and 
premature  discouragement.  A  discriminating  selection 
from  the  masters  of  a  language  is  greatly  to  be  preferred 
to  a  heterogeneous  collection,  representing  all  diversities 
of  style,  and  failing  to  impress  upon  the  mind  the  essen- 
tial distinction  between  the  classic  and  the  commonplace 
in  literature. 


BHEP.  HIST.  BDOB. 


PREFACE.  ix 

With  this  brief  explanation  of  the  nature  and  design 
of  this  collection  of  historical  readings,  it  is  respectfully 
submitted  to  the  consideration  of  teachers  and  all  per- 
sons interested  in  promoting  the  study  of  history  in 
accordance  with  sound  principles  and  rational  methods. 

8 HEP.  1IIST.  BDG8. 


CONTENTS. 


MM 

The  Early  Life  of  George  Washington Washington  Irving.  1 

The  Last  Days  of  Washington Washington  Irving.  7 

The  Character  of  Washington. Washington  Irving.  17 

Christopher  Columbus.— Sketch  of  his  Early  Life  and  Education. 

Washington  Irving.  19 

Sketch  of  William  the  Silent John  Lothrop  Motley.  24 

John  Hampden. — His  Character.— His  Death. 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  32 

Frederick  the  Great  of  Prussia. — His  Habits. — His  Manner  of  conduct- 
ing Public  Affairs Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  36 

Effect  of  Historical  Reading. — What  constitutes  a  Perfect  History. 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  41 
Joseph  Addison. — His  Death. — Influence  of  his  Writings. 

TJiomas  Babington  Maeaulay.  48 

The  English  Country  Gentleman  of  1 688 .  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  61 

Exordium  to  History  of  England Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  57 

Napoleon  Bonaparte. — His  Rise  to  Fame Peter  Bayne.  60 

Napoleon  Bonaparte. — His  Italian  Campaign. — His  Military  Genius. 

Peter  Bayne.  64 

Napoleon  Bonaparte's  Russian  Campaign Peter  Baync.  70 

The  Duke  of  Wellington. — His  Character. — His  Genius.. Peter  Bayne.  73 

The  Duke  of  Wellington.— The  Battle  of  Waterloo Peter  Bayne.  77 

Sailing  of  the  Spanish  Armada James  Anthony  Froude.  85 

Sketch  of  Julius  Caesar James  Anthony  Froude.  90 

Execution  of  Mary  Stuart James  Anthony  Froude.  102 

Portrait  of  Henry  VIII James  Anthony  Froude.  Ill 

Coronation  of  Anne  Boleyn James  Anthony  Froude.  115 

Markets  and  Wages  in  the  Reign  of  Henry  VIII. 

James  Anthony  Froude.  122 


xii  CONTENTS. 

The  Last  Years  of  Queen  Elizabeth James  Anthony  Froude.  126 

The  Age  of  Elizabeth. — Social  Life  and  Domestic  Comfort  in  her 

Reign John  Richard  Green.  133 

Sketch  of  the  Emperor  Charlemagne. — His  Mode  of  Life. — His  Influ- 
ence upon  Subsequent  History.  .Francis  Pierre  Guillaume  Guizot.  137 
Condemnation  of  Joan  of  Arc. — Her  Death. — Estimate  of  her  Charac- 
ter  Francis  Pierre  Guillaume  Guizot.  142 

Character  of  the  Middle  Ages Francis  Pierre  Guillaume  Guizot.  147 

The  Crusades. — Preaching  of  Peter  the  Hermit. — Enthusiasm  of  the 

Crusaders Francis  Pierre  Guillaume  Guizot.  149 

Death  of  Marshal  Turenne Francis  Pierre  Guillaume  Guizot.  153 

Sailing  of  the  Norman  Fleet  for  the  Conquest  of  England. 

Francis  Pierre  Guillaume  Guizot.  156 
The  Death  of  Gustavus  Adolphus. — Estimate  of  his  Character. 

Francis  Pierre  Guillaume  Guizot.  159 

Sketch  of  Hannibal .. .  .    Thomas  Arnold.  164 

Character  of  Scipio Thomas  Arnold.  166 

The  Battle  of  Salamis William  Smith.  168 

Alexander  the  Great. — Influence  of  his  Conquests William  Smith.  172 

The  Battle  of  Hastings,  October  14,  1066 Sir  Francis  Palgrave.  175 

English  Home-Life  in  Anglo-Saxon  Times Charles  Pearson.  183 

The  Norman  Conquest— Its  Influence  upon  English  History. 

Charles  Pearson.  186 

The  Last  Years  of  William  the  Conqueror Charles  Pearson.  183 

Sketch  of  Alfred  the  Great Charles  Pearson.  1 92 

Life  in  Britain  in  Roman  Times Charles  Pearson.  1 1»9 

Domestic  Life  in  the  Middle  Ages. — Contrast  between  the  Middle  Ages 

and  Modern  Times Charles  Pearson.  203 

Sketch  of  Lord  Falkland Edward  Hyde,  Earl  of  Clarendon.  214 

Death  and  Character  of  Edward  VI Bixhop  Gilbert  Burnt 

Sketch  of  Charles  II Bishop  Gilbert  Bumet.  226 

Character  of  William  III,  of  England Bishop  Gilbert  Burnd.  231 

Death  and  Character  of  Queen  Elizabeth David  Hume.  236 

Character  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots Dr.  William  Robertson.  240 

Discovery  of  America Dr.  William  Robertson.  243 

Cromwell's  Expulsion   of    the   Parliament  in    1653. 

Dr.  John  Lingard.  250 

What  a  Good  History  ought  to  be Thomas  Carlyle.  256 

The  Duke  of  Marlborough. — Estimate  of  his  Military  Genius. — His 

Rank  as  a  Statesman William  Edward  Hartpole  Lecky.  260 

Reflections  upon  the  English  Revolution  of  1688. 

William  Edward  Hartpole  Lecky.  267 


CONTENTS.  xiii 

PAGB 

William  Pitt  (Earl  of  Chatham). — Description  of  his  Oratory. 

William  Edward  Hartpole  Lecky.  271 
Intellectual  and  Literary  Characteristics  of  England  in  the  Eighteenth 

Century William  Edward  Hartpole  Lecky.  281            - 

Appearance  and  Character  of  Mohammed Edward  Gibbon.  285  ^ 

Conquest  of  Jerusalem  by  the  Crusaders,  1099  A.  D.  .Edward  Gibbon.  287   l^ 
Oliver  Cromwell. — His  Last  Days. — Estimate  of  his  Character. 

Leopold  von  Ranke.  291 
The  Emperor  Charles  V  performs  the  Funeral  Service  for  Himself. 

William  Stirling.  297 
View  of  Mexico  from  the  Summit  of  Ahualco. 

William  Hickling  Prescott.  300 
Spain  in  the  Age  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella. 

William  Hickling  Prescott.  302 
Spam  in  the  Age  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  (continued). 

William  Hickling  Prescott.  306 

Julius  Caesar. — His  Genius,  his  Character Theodore  Mommsen.  310 

Causes  of  the  French  Revolution.  .  .  .Francois  Auguste  Marie  Mignct.  321 
Napoleon's  First  Overthrow. — Reflections  upon  his  Genius,  and  the 
Influence  of  his  Career  upon  European  Civilization. 

Francois  Auguste  Marie  Mignet.  328 

The  Burial-place  of  Monmouth Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  337 

England  in  1685 Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  340 

Female  Education  in  England  during  the  Latter  Part  of  the  XVlIth  — 

Century ...  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  841 

England  after  the  Norman  Conquest.— The  Great  Charter.— Rise  of 

the  English  Nation Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  342 

Ancient  and  Modern  History. — Historic  Functions  of  Ancient  Na- 
tions  John  S.  Brewer.  346 

Ancient  London John  S.  Brewer.  354 

The  Holy  Roman  Empire James  Bryce.  358 

The  Holy  Roman  Empire. — Its  Influence  upon  History.  .James  Brycc.  361 

Westminster  Abbey Edward  A.  Freeman.  365 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh George  Bancroft.  371 

Stratford-on-Avon  in  the  Days  of  Shakespeare. 

James  0.  Halliwell-  Phillipps.  373 
The  Early  Plantagenets. — Importance  of  their  Epoch  in  European 

History ." William  Stubbs.  375 

The  Invention  of  Printing Henry  Hallam.  380 

Character  of  Sir  John  Moore W.  F.  P.  Napier.  384 

Siege  and  Capture  of  Constantinople,  A.  D.  1453 Edward  Gibbon.  385 

Waltham  Abbey. — The  Burial-place  of  Harold,  last  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  Kings Edward  A.  Freeman.  893 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

MM 

The  State  of  America  in  1784 John  B.  McMagter.  397 

Socrates. — Influence  of  his  Teaching Georgt  Grot*.  402 

The  State  of  America  in  1784. — Condition  of  Literature. 

John  B.  McMaster.  406 
Washington  resigns  his  Commission  (December,  1783). 

John  B.  AfcMaster.  410 
Biographical  Sketches  of  the  Authors  represented  in  the  Historical 

Readings 415 


HISTORICAL  READINGS. 


THE  EARLY  LIFE  OF  GEORGE  WASHINGTON. 
IEVING'S  "LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON." 

The  early  years  of  Washington  are  described  with  Irving's  char- 
acteristic clearness.  His  school  life,  his  exploits  in  the  wilds  of 
Virginia,  his  experience  as  a  surveyor,  the  conspicuous  part  he 
played  in  Braddock's  ill-starred  campaign,  his  meeting  with  the 
lovely  Mrs.  Custis — are  all  full  of  interest  to  the  young  student. 
Washington  was  born  on  the  llth  of  February,  1732;  why  do  we 
celebrate  the  22d  as  his  birthday  ? 

Nor  long  after  the  birth  of  George  "Washington  his  1 
father  removed  to  an  estate  in  Stafford  County,  oppo- 
site Fredericksburg.  The  house  was  similar  in  style  to 
the  one  at  Bridge's  Creek,  and  stood  on  a  rising  ground 
overlooking  a  meadow  which  bordered  the  Rappahannock. 
This  was  the  home  of  George's  boyhood;  the  meadow 
was  his  playground,  and  the  scene  of  his  early  athletic 
sports ;  but  this  home,  like  that  in  which  he  was  born,  has 
disappeared ;  the  site  is  only  to  be  traced  by  fragments  of 
bricks,  china,  and  earthenware. 

In  those  days  the  means  of  instruction  in  Virginia  2 
were  limited,  and  it  was  the  custom  among  the  wealthy 
planters  to  send  their  sons  to  England  to  complete  their 


2  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

education.  This  was  done  by  Augustine  Washington  with 
his  eldest  son  Lawrence,  then  about  fifteen  years  of 
age,  and  whom  he  no  doubt  considered  the  future  head 
of  the  family.  George  was  yet  in  early  childhood :  as 
his  intellect  dawned,  he  received  the  rudiments  of  educa- 
tion in  the  best  establishment  for  the  purpose  that  the 
neighborhood  afforded.  It  was  what  was  called,  in  popu- 
lar parlance,  an  "  old  field  schoolhouse,"  humble  enough 
in  its  pretensions,  and  kept  by  one  of  his  father's  tenants 
named  Hobby,  who,  moreover,  was  sexton  of  the  parish. 
The  instruction  doled  out  by  him  must  have  been  of  the 
simplest  kind — reading,  writing,  and  ciphering,  perhaps ; 
but  George  had  the  benefit  of  mental  and  moral  culture 
at  home  from  an  excellent  father. 

3  Several  traditional  anecdotes  have  been  given  to  the 
world,  somewhat  prolix  and  trite,  but  illustrative  of  the 
familiar  and  practical  manner  in  which  Augustine  Was! i- 
ington,  in  the  daily  intercourse   of    domestic  life,  im- 
pressed the  ductile  mind  of  his  child  with  high  maxims 
of  religion  and  virtue,  and  imbued  him  with  a  spirit  of 
justice  and  generosity,  and,  above  all,  a  scrupulous  love 
of  truth. 

4  When  George  was  about  seven  or  eight  years  old  his 
brother  Lawrence  returned  from  England,  a  well-educuU'd 
and  accomplished  youth.    There  was  a  difference  of  four- 
teen years  in  their  ages,  which  may  have  been  one  cause 
of  the  strong  attachment  which  took  place  between  them. 
Lawrence  looked  down  with  a  protecting  eye  upon  the 
boy,  whose  dawning  intelligence  and  perfect  rectitude 
won  his  regard ;  while  George  looked  up  to  his  manly 
and  cultivated  brother  as  a  model  in  mind  and  manners. 
We  call  particular  attention  to  this  brotherly  interchange 
of  affection,  from  the  influence  it  had  on  all  the  future 
career  of  the  subject  of  this  memoir. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  3 

Lawrence  Washington  had  something  of  the  old  mili-  5 
tary  spirit  of  the  family,  and  circumstances  soon  called  it 
into  action.  Spanish  depredations  on  British  commerce 
had  recently  provoked  reprisals.  Admiral  Yernon,  com- 
mand er-in  chief  in  the  West  Indies,  had  accordingly  cap- 
tured Porto  Bello,  on  the  Isthmus  of  Darien.  The  Span- 
iards were  preparing  to  revenge  the  blow;  the  French 
were  fitting  out  ships  to  aid  them.  Troops  were  em- 
barked in  England  for  another  campaign  in  the  West  In- 
dies ;  a  regiment  of  four  battalions  was  to  be  raised  in 
the  colonies,  and  sent  to  join  them  at  Jamaica.  There 
was  a  sudden  outbreak  of  military  ardor  in  the  province ; 
the  sound  of  drum  and  fife  was  heard  in  the  villages  with 
the  parade  of  recruiting  parties.  Lawrence  Washington,  6 
now  twenty-two  years  of  age,  caught  the  infection.  He 
obtained  a  captain's  commission  in  the  newly-raised  regi- 
ment, and  embarked  with  it  for  the  West  Indies  in  1740. 
(v  He  served  in  the  joint  expeditions  of  Admiral  Yernon 
and  General  Wentworth,  in  the  land  forces  commanded 
by  the  latter,  and  acquired  the  friendship  and  confidence 
of  both  of  those  officers.  He  was  present  at  the  siege 

-T  O 

of  Carthagena  when  it  was  bombarded  by  the  fleet,  and 
when  the  troops  attempted  to  escalade  the  citadel.  It 
was  an  ineffectual  attack ;  the  ships  could  not  get  near 
enough  to  throw  their  shells  into  the  town,  and  the 
scaling-ladders  proved  too  short.  That  part  of  the  attack, 
however,  with  which  Lawrence  was  concerned,  distin- 
guished itself  by  its  bravery.  The  troops  sustained  un- 
flinching a  destructive  fire  for  several  hours,  and  at  length 
retired  with  honor,  their  small  force  having  sustained  a 
loss  of  about  six  hundred  in  killed  and  wounded. 

We  have  here  the  secret  of  that  martial  spirit  so  often  7 
cited  of   George  in  his  boyish  days.     He  had  seen  his 

brother  fitted  out  for  the  wars.     He  had  heard  by  letter 
2 


4  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

and  otherwise  of  the  warlike  scenes  in  which  he  was 
mingling.  All  his  amusements  took  a  military  turn.  He 
made  soldiers  of  his  schoolmates ,  they  had  their  mimic 
parades,  reviews,  and  sham  fights ;  a  boy  named  William 
Bustle  was  sometimes  his  competitor,  but  George  was 
commander-in-chief  of  Hobby's  school. 

8  Lawrence  "Washington  returned  home  in  the  autumn 
of  1742,  the  campaigns  in  the  West  Indies  being  ended, 
and  Admiral  Yernon  and  General  Wentworth  being  re- 
called  to  England.     It  was  the  intention  of  Lawrence 
to  rejoin    his  regiment  in  that  country,  and  seek  pro- 
motion in   the  army,  but  circumstances  completely  al- 
tered  his   plans.      He  formed  an  attachment  to  Anne, 
the  eldest   daughter   of  the   Honorable  William  Fair- 
fax,  of   Fairfax   County;   his   addresses  were  well   re- 
ceived, and  they  became  engaged.     Their  nuptials  were 
delayed  by  the  sudden  and  untimely  death  of  his  father, 
which  took  place  on   the  12th  of  April,  1743,  after  a 
short  but  severe   attack  of  gout  in   the   stomach,  and 
when  but  forty-nine  years  of  age.     George  had  been 
absent  from   home  on   a  visit  during  his   father's  ill- 
ness, and  just  returned  in  time  to  receive  a  parting  look 
of  affection. 

9  Augustine  Washington    left   large    possessions,  dis- 
tributed by  will  among  his  children.      To  Lawrence,  the 
estate  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac,  with  other  real  prop- 
erty, and  several  shares  in  iron  works.     To  Augustine, 
the  second  son  by  the  first  marriage,  the  old  homestead 
and  estate  in  Westmoreland.    The  children  by  the  second 
marriage  were  severally  well  provided  for,  and  George, 
when  he  became  of  age,  was  to  have  the  house  and  lands 
on  the  Rappahannock. 

10       In  the  month  of  July  the  marriage  of  Lawrence  with 
Miss  Fairfax  took  place.     He  now  gave  up  all  thoughts 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  S 

of  foreign  service,  and  settled  himself  on  his  estate  on 
the  banks  of  the  Potomac,  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of 
MOUNT  YEKNON,  in  honor  of  the  admiral. 

Augustine  took  up  his  abode  at  the  homestead  on  11 
Bridge's  Creek,  and  married  Anne,  daughter  and  co- 
heiress of  William   Aylett,   Esquire,  of  Westmoreland 
County. 

George,  now  eleven  years  of  age,  and  the  other  chil- 12 
dren  of  the  second  marriage,  had  been  left  under  the 
guardianship  of  their  mother,  to  whom  was  intrusted  the 
proceeds  of  all  their  property  until  they  should  severally 
come  of  age.  She  proved  herself  worthy  of  the  trust. 
Endowed  with  plain,  direct  good  sense,  thorough  consci- 
entiousness, and  prompt  decision,  she  governed  her  family 
strictly,  but  kindly,  exacting  deference  while  she  inspired 
affection.  George,  being  her  eldest  son,  was  thought  to 
be  her  favorite,  yet  she  never  gave  him  undue  preference, 
and  the  implicit  deference  exacted  from  him  in  childhood 
continued  to  be  habitually  observed  by  him  to  the  day  of 
her  death.  He  inherited  from  her  a  high  temper  and  a 
spirit  of  command,  but  her  early  precepts  and  example 
taught  him  to  restrain  and  govern  that  temper,  and  to 
square  his  conduct  on  the  exact  principles  of  equity  and 
justice. 

Tradition  gives  an  interesting  picture  of  the  widow,  1 X 
with  her  little  flock  gathered  round  her,  as  was  her  daily 
wont,  reading  to  them  lessons  of  religion  and  morality  out 
of  some  standard  work.  Her  favorite  volume  was  "Sir 
Matthew  Hale's  Contemplations,"  moral  and  divine.  The 
admirable  maxims  therein  contained,  for  outward  action 
as  well  as  self-government,  sank  deep  into  the  mind  of 
George,  and,  doubtless,  had  a  great  influence  in  forming 
his  character.  They  certainly  were  exemplified  in  his 
conduct  throughout  life.  This  mother's  manual,  bearing 


6  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

his  mother's  name,  Mary  Washington,  written  with  her 
own  hand,  was  ever  preserved  by  him  with  filial  care, 
and  may  still  be  seen  in  the  archives  of  Mount  Yer- 
non.  A  precious  document!  Let  those  who  wish  to 
know  the  moral  foundation  of  his  character  consult  its 
pages. 

14  Having  no  longer  the  benefit  of  a  father's  instructions 
at  home,  and  the  scope  of  tuition  of  Hobby,  the  sexton, 
being  too  limited  for  the  growing  wants  of  his  pupil, 
George  was  now  sent  to  reside  with  Augustine  Washing- 
ton, at  Bridge's  Creek,  and  enjoy  the  benefit  of  a  superior 
school  in  that  neighborhood,  kept  by  a  Mr.  Williams. 
His  education,  however,  was  plain  and  practical.      lie 
never  attempted  the  learned  languages,  nor  manifested 
any  inclination  for  rhetoric  or  belles-lettres.     His  object, 
or  the  object  of  his  friends,  seems  to  have  been  confined 
to  fitting  him  for  ordinary  business.      II  is  manuscript 
school-books  still  exist,  and  are  models  of  neatness  ami 
accuracy.     One  of  them,  it  is  true,  a  ciphering  book, 
preserved   in   the  library  at    Mount   Vemon,  has  some 
school-boy  attempts  at  calligraphy — nondescript   birds, 
executed   with   a  flourish    of   the    pen,   or    profiles  of 
faces,  probably  intended  for  those  of  his  schoolmates; 
the  rest  are  all  grave  and  business-like.     Before  he  was 
thirteen  years  of  age,  he  had  copied  into  a  volume  forms 
for  all  kinds  of   mercantile  and   legal    papers — bills  of 
exchange,   notes  of   hand,   deeds,   bonds,  and  the  like. 

15  This  early  self-tuition  gavejjpp  j^roughout  life  a  law- 
yer's skill^rn^ffiafting    documents,    and    a    merchant's 
exactness  in    keeping    accounts;   so   that    all   the   con- 
!erns  of  his   various  estates,  his   dealings  with   his   do- 
mestic  stewards   and   foreign  agents,  his  accounts  with 
Government,  and   all  his  financial   transactions,    are   to 
this  day  to  be  seen  posted  up  in  books,  in  his  own  hand- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  7 

writing,  monuments  of  his  method  and  unwearied  ac- 
curacy. 

He  was  a  self -disciplinarian  in  physical  as  well  as  16 
mental  matters,  and  practiced  himself  in  all  kinds  of 
athletic  exercises,  such  as  running,  leaping,  wrestling, 
pitching  quoits,  and  tossing  bars.  His  frame,  even  in 
infancy,  had  been  large  and  powerful,  and  he  now  ex- 
celled most  of  his  playmates  in  contests  of  agility  and 
strength.  As  a  proof  of  his  muscular  power,  a  place  is 
still  pointed  out  at  Fredericksburg,  near  the  lower  ferry, 
where,  when  a  boy,  he  flung  a  stone  across  the  Rappa- 
hannock.  In  horsemanship,  too,  he  already  excelled,  and 
was  ready  to  hack,  and  able  to  manage,  the  most  fiery 
steed.  Traditional  anecdotes  remain  of  his  achievements 
in  this  respect. 

Above  all,  his  inherent  probity  and  the  principles  of  17 
justice  on  which  he  regulated  all  his  conduct,  even  at  this 
early  period  of  life,  were  soon  appreciated  by  his  school- 
mates ;  he  was  referred  to  as  an  umpire  in  their  disputes, 
and  his  decisions  were  never  reversed.  As  he  had 
formerly  been  military  chieftain,  he  was  now  legislator 
of  the  school,  thus  displaying  in  boyhood  a  type  of  the 
future  man. 


THE    LAST    DAYS   OF  WASHINGTON. 

•A 

IRVING'S  "LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON.**     ^ 

"  THE  LAST  DATS  OF  WASHINGTON"  is  inserted  in  the  hofte  of 
inducing  the  student  to  read  Irving's  "Life  of  Washington"  for 
himself.  Many  estimates  of  the  character  of  Washington  have  been 
made  by  eminent  writers.  Among  these  may  be  mentioned  Macau- 
lay's  celebrated  parallel  between  Washington  and  Hampden ;  Ed- 


8  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ward  Everett's  oration;  Webster's  speeches;  Guizot's  "Life  of 
Washington."  The  American  student  should  devote  himself  to  the 
diligent  study  of  his  life  and  character.  "  Washington's  Letters," 
edited  by  Sparks,  will  greatly  assist  in  the  task. 

1  WINTER  had  now  set  in,  with  occasional  wind  and  rain 
and  frost,  yet  "Washington  still  kept  up  his  active  round 
of  in-door  and  out- door  avocations,  as  his  diary  records. 
He  was  in  full  health  and  vigor,  dined  out  occasionally, 
and  had  frequent  guests  at  Mount  Yernon,  and,  as  usual, 
was  part  of  every  day  in  the  saddle,  going  the  rounds  of 
his  estates,  and,  in  his  military  phraseology,  "  visiting  the 
outposts." 

2  He  had  recently  walked  with  his   favorite  nephew 
about  the  grounds,  showing  the   improvements  he   in- 
tended to  make,  and  had  especially  pointed  out  the  spot 
where  he  purposed  building  a  new  family  vault,  the  old 
one  being  damaged  by  the  roots  of  trees  which  had  over- 
grown it  and  caused  it  to  leak.     "  This  change,"  said  he, 
"  I  shall  make  the  first  of  all,  for  I  may  require  it  before 
the  rest." 

3  "When  I  parted  from  him,"  adds  the  nephew,  "he 
stood  on  the  steps  of  the  front  door,  where  he  took  leave 
of  myself  and  another.  ...  It  was  a  bright  frosty  morn- 
ing ;  he  had  taken  his  usual  ride,  and  the  clear,  healthy 
flush  on  his   cheek   and   his  sprightly  manner  brought 
the  remark  from  both  of  us  that  we  had  never  seen  the 
General  look  so  well.     I  have  sometimes  thought  him 
decidedly  the  handsomest  man  I  ever  saw ;  and  when  in 
a  lively  mood,  so  full  of  pleasantry,  so  agreeable  to  all 
with  whom  he  associated,  that  I  could  hardly  realize  he 
was  the  same  Washington  whose  dignity  awed  all  who 
approached  him."  .  .  . 

4  For  some  time  past  Washington  had  been  occupied  in 
digesting  a  complete  system  on  which  his  estate  was  to 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  9 

be  managed  for  several  succeeding  years ;  specifying  the 
cultivation  of  the  several  farms,  with  tables  designating 
the  rotations  of  the  crops.  It  occupied  thirty  folio  pages, 
and  was  executed  with  that  clearness  and  method  which 
characterized  all  his  business  papers.  This  was  finished 
on  the  10th  of  December,  and  was  accompanied  by  a 
letter  of  that  date  to  his  manager  or  steward.  It  is  a 
valuable  document,  showing  the  soundness  and  vigor  of 
his  intellect  at  this  advanced  stage  of  his  existence,  and 
the  love  of  order  that  reigned  throughout  his  affairs. 
"  My  greatest  anxiety,"  said  he  on  a  previous  occasion, 
"  is  to  have  all  these  concerns  in  such  a  clear  and  distinct 
form  that  no  reproach  may  attach  itself  to  me  when  I 
have  taken  my  departure  to  the  land  of  spirits." 

It  was  evident,  however,  that,  full  of  health  and  vigor,  5 
he  looked  forward  to  his  long-cherished  hope,  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  serene  old  age  in  this  home  of  his  heart. 

According  to  his  diary,  the  morning  on  which  these 
voluminous  instructions  to  his  steward  were  dated  was 
clear  and  calm,  but  the  afternoon  was  lowering.  The 
next  day  (llth)  he  notes  that  there  was  wind  and  rain, 
and  "  at  night  a  large  circle  round  the  moon." 

The  morning  of  the  1 2th  was  overcast.  That  morning  6 
he  wrote  a  letter  to  Hamilton,  heartily  approving  of  a 
plan  for  a  military  academy,  which  the  latter  had  sub- 
mitted to  the  Secretary  of  War.  "  The  establishment  of 
an  institution  of  this  kind  upon  a  respectable  and  ex- 
tensive basis,"  observes  he,  "  has  ever  been  considered  by 
me  an  object  of  primary  importance  to  this  country ;  and 
while  I  was  in  the  chair  of  Government  I  omitted  no 
proper  opportunity  of  recommending  it,  in  my  public 
speeches  and  otherwise,  to  the  attention  of  the  Legisla- 
ture. But  I  never  undertook  to  go  into  a  detail  of  the 
organization  of  such  an  academy,  leaving  this  task  to 


10  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

others,  whose  pursuit  in  the  path  of  science  and  attention 
to  the  arrangement  of  such  institutions  had  better  quali- 
fied them  for  the  execution  of  it.  ...  I  sincerely  hope 
that  the  subject  will  meet  with  due  attention,  and  that 
the  reasons  for  its  establishment,  which  you  have  clearly 
pointed  out  in  your  letter  to  the  secretary,  will  prevail 
upon  the  Legislature  to  place  it  upon  a  permanent  and 
respectable  footing."  He  closes  his  letter  with  an  assur- 
ance of  "  very  great  esteem  and  regard,"  the  last  words 
he  was  ever  to  address  to  Hamilton. 

7  About  ten  o'clock  he  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  out 
as  usual  to  make  the  rounds  of  the  estate.     The  ominous 
ring  round  the  moon  which  he  had  observed  on  the  pre- 
ceding night   proved    a    fatal    portent.      "About  one 
o'clock,"  he  notes,  "it  began  to  snow,  soon  after  to  hail, 
and  then  turned  to  a  settled  cold  rain."     Having  on  an 
overcoat,  he  continued  his  ride  without  regarding   the 
weather,  and   did   not  return  to  the  house  until  after 
three. 

8  His  secretary  approached  him  with  letters  to  be  franked, 
that  they  might  be  taken  to  the  post-office  in  the  evening. 
"Washington  franked  the  letters,  but  observed  that  the 
weather  was  too  bad  to  send  a  servant  out  with  them. 
Mr.  Lear  perceived  that  snow  was  hanging  from  his  hair, 
and  expressed  fears  that  he  had  got  wet ;  but  he  replied, 
"  No,  his  great-coat  had  kept  him  dry."     As  dinner  had 
been  waiting  for  him,  he  sat  down  to  table  without  chang- 
ing his  dress.     "In  the  evening,"  writes  his  secretary, 
"  he  appeared  as  well  as  usual." 

9  On  the  following  morning  the  snow  was  three  inches 
deep  and  still  falling,  which  prevented  him  from  taking 
his  usual  ride.     He  complained  of  a  sore  throat,  and  had 
evidently  taken  cold  the  day  before.     In  the  afternoon 
the  weather  cleared  up,  and  he  went  out  on  the  grounds 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  11 

between  the  house  and  the  river  to  mark  some  trees 
which  were  to  be  cut  down.  A  hoarseness  which  had 
hung  about  him  through  the  day  grew  worse  toward 
night,  but  he  made  light  of  it. 

He  was  very  cheerful  in  the  evening,  as  he  sat  in  the  10 
parlor  with  Mrs.  Washington  and  Mr.  Lear,  amusing 
himself  with  the  papers  which  had  been  brought  from 
the  post-office.  When  he  met  with  anything  interesting 
or  entertaining,  he  would  read  it  aloud  as  well  as  his 
hoarseness  would  permit,  or  he  listened  and  made  occa- 
sional comments  while  Mr.  Lear  read  the  debates  of  the 
Virginia  Assembly. 

On  retiring  to  bed,  Mr.  Lear  suggested  that  he  should  11 
take  something  to  relieve  the  cold.     "No,"  replied  he, 
"  you  know  I  never  take  anything  for  a  cold.     Let  it  go 
as  it  came." 

In  the  night  he  was  taken  extremely  ill  with  ague  and 
difficulty  of  breathing.  Between  two  and  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  he  awoke  Mrs.  Washington,  who  would 
have  risen  to  call  a  servant,  but  he  would  not  permit  her, 
lest  she  should  take  cold.  At  daybreak,  when  the  ser- 
vant-woman entered  to  make  a  fire,  she  was  sent  to  call 
Mr.  Lear.  He  found  the  General  breathing  with  diffi- 
culty, and  hardly  able  to  utter  a  word  intelligibly.  Wash- 
ington desired  that  Dr.  Craik,  who  lived  in  Alexandria, 
should  be  sent  for,  and  that  in  the  meantime  Rawlins, 
one  of  the  overseers,  should  be  summoned  to  bleed  him 
before  the  doctor  could  arrive. 

A  gargle  was  prepared  for  his  throat,  but,  whenever  12 
he  attempted  to  swallow  any  of  it,  he  was  convulsed  and 
almost  suffocated.  Kawlins  made  his  appearance  soon 
after  sunrise ;  but,  when  the  General's  arm  was  ready  for 
the  operation,  became  agitated.  "  Don't  be  afraid,"  said 
the  General,  as  well  as  he  could  speak.  Rawlins  made  an 


12  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

incision.  "  The  orifice  is  not  large  enough,"  said  "Wash- 
ington. The  blood,  however,  ran  pretty  freely,  and  Mrs. 
Washington,  uncertain  whether  the  treatment  was  proper, 
and  fearful  that  too  much  blood  might  be  taken,  begged 
Mr.  Lear  to  stop  it.  When  he  was  about  to  untie  the 
string,  the  General  put  up  his  hand  to  prevent  him,  and 
as  soon  as  he  could  speak,  murmured,  "  More,  more ; "  but 
Mrs.  Washington's  doubts  prevailed,  and  the  bleeding  was 
stopped,  after  about  half  a  pint  of  blood  had  been  taken. 
External  applications  were  now  made  to  the  throat,  and 
his  feet  were  bathed  in  warm  water,  but  without  afford- 
ing any  relief. 

His  old  friend,  Dr.  Craik,  arrived  between  eight  and 
nine,  and  two  other  physicians,  Drs.  Dick  and  Brown, 
were  called  in.  Various  remedies  were  tried,  and  addi- 
tional bleeding,  but  all  of  no  avail. 

13  "About  half-past  four  o'clock,"  writes  Mr.  Lear,  "he 
desired  me  to  call  Mrs.  Washington  to  his  bedside,  when 
he  requested  her  to  go  down  into  his  room  and  take  from 
his  desk  two  wills  which  she  would  find  there,  and  bring 
them  to  him,  which  she  did.     Upon  looking  at  them,  he 
gave  her  one,  which  he  observed  was  useless,  as  being 
superseded  by  the  other,  and  desired  her  to  burn  it,  which 
she  did,  and  took  the  other  and  put  it  into  her  closet. 

14  "After  this  was  done,  I  returned  to  his  bedside  and 
took  his  hand.     He  said  to  me:  <I  find  I  am  going;  my 
breath  can  not  last  long.     I  believed  from  the  first  that 
the  disorder  would   prove  fatal.     Do  you  arrange  and 
record  all  my  late  military  letters  and  papers.     Arrange 
my  accounts  and   settle   my  books,  as  you  know  more 
about  them  than  any  one  else ;  and  let  Mr.  Rawlins  finish 
recording  my  other  letters,  which  he  has  begun  ! '     I  told 
him  this  should  be  done.     He  then  asked  if  I  recollected 
anything  which  it  was  essential  for  him  to  do,  as  he  had 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  13 

but  a  very  short  time  to  continue  with  us.  I  told  him 
that  I  could  recollect  nothing ;  but  that  I  hoped  he  was 
not  so  near  his  end.  He  observed,  smiling,  that  he  cer- 
tainly was,  and  that,  as  it  was  the  debt  which  we  must 
all  pay,  he  looked  to  the  event  with  perfect  resignation." 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  he  appeared  to  be  in  15 
great  pain  and  distress  from  the  difficulty  of  breathing, 
and  frequently  changed  his  posture  in  the  bed.  Mr. 
Lear  endeavored  to  raise  him  and  turn  him  with  as  much 
ease  as  possible.  "  I  am  afraid  I  fatigue  you  too  much," 
the  General  would  say.  Upon  being  assured  to  the  con- 
trary, "Well,"  observed  he  gratefully,  "it  is  a  debt  we 
must  pay  to  each  other,  and  I  hope  when  you  want  aid  of 
this  kind  you  will  find  it." 

His  servant,  Christopher,  had  been  in  the  room  dur- 16 
ing  the  day,  and  almost  the  whole  time  on  his  feet.     The 
General  noticed  it  in  the  afternoon,  and  kindly  told  him 
to  sit  down. 

About  five  o'clock  his  old  friend,  Dr.  Craik,  came 
again  into  the  room  arid  approached  the  bedside.  "  Doc- 
tor," said  the  General,  "  I  die  hard,  but  I  am  not  afraid 
to  go.  I  believed,  from  my  first  attack,  that  I  should 
not  survive  it;  my  breath  can  not  last  long."  The  doctor 
pressed  his  hand  in  silence,  retired  from  the  bedside,  and 
sat  by  the  fire  absorbed  in  grief. 

Between  five  and  six  the  other  physicians  came  in,  17 
and  he  was  assisted  to  sit  up  in  his  bed.  "  I  feel  I  am 
going,"  said  he ;  "I  thank  you  for  your  attentions,  but  I 
pray  you  to  take  no  more  trouble  about  me ;  let  me  go 
off  quietly ;  I  cannot  last  long."  He  lay  down  again ; 
all  retired,  excepting  Dr.  Craik.  The  General  continued 
uneasy  and  restless,  but  without  complaining,  frequently 
asking  what  hour  it  was. 

Further  remedies  were   tried  without   avail   in   the 


14  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

evening.  He  took  whatever  was  offered  him,  did  as  he 
was  desired  by  the  physicians,  and  never  uttered  sigh  or 
complaint. 

18  "About  ten  o'clock,"  writes  Mr.  Lear,  "he  made 
several  attempts  to  speak  to  me  before  he  could  effect  it. 
At  length  he  said,  '  I  am  just  going.     Have  me  decently 
buried,  and  do  not  let  my  body  be  put  into  the  vault  in 
less  than  three  days  after  I  am  dead.'     I  bowed  assent, 
for  I  could  not  speak.     He  then  looked  at  me  again,  and 
said,  i  Do  you  understand  me  ? '     I  replied,  '  Yes.'     4  'Tis 
well,'  said  he. 

"  About  ten  minutes  before  he  expired  (which  was  be- 
tween ten  and  eleven  o'clock)  his  breathing  became  easier. 
He  lay  quietly ;  he  withdrew  his  hand  from  mine  and 
felt  his  own  pulse.  I  saw  his  countenance  change.  I 
spoke  to  Dr.  Craik,  who  sat  by  the  fire.  He  came  to  the 
bedside.  The  General's  hand  fell  from  his  wrist.  I  took 
it  in  mine  and  pressed  it  to  my  bosom.  Dr.  Craik  put 
his  hands  over  his  eyes,  and  he  expired  without  a  struggle 
or  a  sigh. 

"While  we  were  fixed  in  silent  grief,  Mrs.  Washing- 
ton, who  was  seated  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  asked,  with 
a  firm  and  collected  voice,  '  Is  he  gone  ? '  I  could  not 
speak,  but  held  up  my  hand  as  a  signal  that  he  was  no 
more.  l  'Tis  well,'  said  she  in  the  same  voice.  '  All  is 
now  over;  I  shall  soon  follow  him ;  I  have  no  more  trials 
to  pass  through/  " 

19  We  add,  from  Mr.  Lear's  account,  a  few  particulars 
concerning  the  funeral.     The  old  family  vault  on  the 
estate  had  been  opened,  the  rubbish  cleared  away,  and  a 
door  made  to  close  the  entrance,  which  before  had  been 
closed  with  brick.     The  funeral  took  place  on  the  18th 
of  December.     About  eleven  o'clock  the  people  of  the 
neighborhood  began  to  assemble.     The   corporation  of 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  IS 

Alexandria,  with  the  militia  and  Freemasons  of  the  place, 
and  eleven  pieces  of  cannon,  arrived  at  a  later  hour.  A 
schooner  was  stationed  off  Mount  Yernon  to  fire  minute- 
guns. 

About  three  o'clock  the  procession  began  to  move,  20 
passing  out  through  the  gate  at  the  left  wing  of  the 
house,  proceeding  round  in  front  of  the  lawn  and  down 
to  the  vault,  on  the  right  wing  of  the  house,  minute- 
guns  being  fired  at  the  time.  The  troops,  horse  and  foot, 
formed  the  escort ;  then  came  four  of  the  clergy.  Then 
the  General's  horse,  with  his  saddle,  holsters,  and  pistols, 
led  b  v  two  grooms  in  black.  The  body  was  borne  by  the 
Freemasons  and  officers ;  several  members  of  the  family 
and  old  friends,  among  the  number  Dr.  Craik,  and  some 
of  the  Fairfaxes,  followed  as  chief  mourners.  The  cor- 
poration of  Alexandria  and  numerous  private  persons 
closed  the  procession.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Davis  read  the 
funeral  service  at  the  vault,  and  pronounced  a  short  ad- 
dress, after  which  the  Masons  performed  their  ceremo- 
nies, and  the  body  was  deposited  in  the  vault. 

Such  were  the  obsequies  of  Washington,  simple  and 
modest,  according  to  his  own  wishes ;  all  confined  to  the 
grounds  of  Mount  Yernon,  which,  after  forming  the  poeti- 
cal dream  of  his  life,  had  now  become  his  final  resting-place. 

On  opening  the  will  which  he  had  handed  to  Mrs.  21 
"Washington  shortly  before  his  death,  it  was  found  to 
have  been  carefully  drawn  up  by  himself  in  the  preced- 
ing July ;  and,  by  an  act  in  conformity  with  his  whole 
career,  one  of  its  first  provisions  directed  the  emancipa- 
tion of  his  slaves  on  the  decease  of  his  wife.  It  had  long 
been  his  earnest  wish  that  the  slaves  held  by  him  in  Ms 
own  right  should  receive  their  freedom  during  his  life ; 
but  he  had  found  that  it  would  be  attended  with  insuper- 
able difficulties  on  account  of  their  intermixture  by  mar- 


16  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

riage  with  the  "  dower  negroes,'*  whom  it  was  not  in  his 
power  to  manumit  under  the  tenure  by  which  they  were 
held. 

22  With  provident  benignity  he  also  made  provision  in 
his  will  for  such  as  were  to  receive  their  freedom  under 
this  devise,  but  who,  from  age,  bodily  infirmities,  or  in-- 
fancy, might  be  unable  to  support  themselves ;  and  he 
expressly  forbade,  under  any  pretense  whatsoever,  the 
sale  or  transportation  out  of  Virginia  of  any  slave  of 
whom  he  might  die  possessed.     Though  born  and  edu- 
cated a  slave-holder,  this  was  all  in  consonance  with  feel- 
ings, sentiments,  and  principles  which  he  had  long  enter- 
tained. .  .  . 

23  A  deep  sorrow  spread  over  the  nation  on  hearing  that 
Washington  was  no  more.     Congress,  which  was  in  ses- 
sion, immediately  adjourned  for  the  day.    The  next  morn- 
ing it  was  resolved  that  the  Speaker's  chair  be  shrouded 
with  black,  that  the  members  and  officers  of  the  House 
wear  black  during  the  session,  and  that  a  joint  committee 
of  both  Houses  be  appointed  to  consider  on  the  most 
suitable  manner  of  doing  honor  to  the  memory  of  the 
man  "  first  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  first  in  the  hearts 
of  his  fellow-citizens." 

24  Public  testimonials  of  grief  and  reverence  were  dis- 
played  in  every  part  of  the  Union.     Nor  were  these 
sentiments  confined  to  the  United   States.     When   the 
news  of  Washington's   death    reached   England,    Lord 
Bridport,  who  had  command  of  a  British  fleet  of  nearly 
sixty  sail  of  the  line,  lying  at  Torbay,  lowered  his  flag 
half  mast,  every  ship  following  the  example;  and  Bona- 
parte, First  Consul  of  France,  on  announcing  his  death 
to  the  army,  ordered  that  black  crape  should  be   sus- 
pended from  all  the  standards  and  flags  throughout  the 
public  service  for  ten  days. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  17 

THE   CHARACTER   OF  WASHINGTON. 

IEVING'S  "LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON." 

(See  preceding  note.) 

IN  the  preceding  volumes  of  our  work  we  have  traced  1 
the  career  of  Washington  from  early  boyhood  to  his  ele- 
vation to  the  Presidential  chair.  It  was  an  elevation  he 
had  neither  sought  nor  wished ;  for,  when  the  indepen- 
dence of  his  country  was  achieved,  the  modest  and  cher- 
ished desire  of  his  h'j;;rt  had  been  "  to  live  and  die  a  pri- 
vate citizen  on  his  own  farm ;  and  he  had  shaped  out  for 
himself  an  ideal  elysium  in  his  beloved  shades  of  Mount 
Vernon.  But  power  sought  him  in  his  retirement.  The 
weight  and  influence  of  his  name  and  character  were 
deemed  all  essential  to  complete  his  work  ;  to  set  the  new 
government  in  motion,  and  conduct  it  through  its  first 
perils  and  trials.  With  unfeigned  reluctance  he  complied  2 
with  the  imperative  claims  of  his  country,  and  accepted 
the  power  thus  urged  upon  him,  advancing  to  its  exercise 
with  diffidence,  and  aiming  to  surround  himself  with  men 
of  the  highest  talent  and  information,  whom  he  might 
consult  in  emergency,  but  firm  and  strong  in  the  resolve 
in  all  things  to  act  as  his  conscience  told  him  was  "right 
as  it  respected  his  God,  his  country,  and  himself."  For 
he  knew  no  divided  fidelity,  no  separate  obligation ;  his 
most  sacred  duty  to  himself  was  his  highest  duty  to  his 
country  and  his  God. 

In  treating  of  his  civil  administration  in  this  closing  3 
volume,  we  have  endeavored  to  show  how  truly  he  ad- 
hered to  this  resolve,  and  with  what  inflexible  integrity 
and  scrupulous  regard  to  the  public  weal  he  discharged 
his  functions.     In  executing  our  task,  we  have  not  in- 


18  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

dulged  in  discussions  of  temporary  questions  of  contro- 
verted policy  which  agitated  the  incipient  establishment 
of  our  Government,  but  have  given  his  words  and  actions 
as  connected  with  those  questions,  and  as  illustrative  of 
his  character.  In  this  volume,  as  in  those  which  treat  of 
his  military  career,  we  have  avoided  rhetorical  amplifica- 
tion and  embellishments,  and  all  gratuitous  assumptions, 
and  have  sought,  by  simple  and  truthful  details,  to  give 
his  character  an  opportunity  of  developing  itself,  and  of 
manifesting  those  fixed  principles  and  that  noble  consist- 
ency which  reigned  alike  throughout  his  civil  and  his 
military  career. 

4  The  character  of  Washington  may  want  some  of  those 
poetical  elements  which  dazzle  and  delight  the  multitude, 
but  it  possessed  fewer  inequalities  and  a  rarer  union  of 
virtues  than,  perhaps,  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  one  man. 
Prudence,  firmness,  sagacity,  moderation,  an  overruling 
judgment,  an  immovable  justice,  courage  that  never  fal- 
tered, patience  that  never  wearied,  truth  that  disdained 
all  artifice,  magnanimity  without  alloy.     It  seems  as  if 
Providence  had  endowed  him  in  a  preeminent  degree 
with  the  qualities  requisite  to  fit  him  for  the  high  destiny 
he  was  called  upon  to  fulfill — to  conduct  a  momentous 
revolution  which  was  to  form  an  era  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  and  to  inaugurate  a  new  and  untried  government, 
which,  to  use  his  own  words,  was  to  lay  the  foundation 
"for  the  enjoyment  of  much   purer  civil  liberty  and 
greater  public  happiness  than   have  hitherto  been  the 
portion  of  mankind." 

5  The  fame   of  Washington  stands  apart  from  every 
other  in  history,  shining  with  a  truer  luster  and  a  more 
benignant  glory.     With  us  his  memory  remains  a  national 
property,  where  all  sympathies  throughout  our  widely- 
extended  and  diversified  empire  meet  in  unison.     Under 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  19 

all  dissensions  and  amid  all  the  storms  of  party,  his  pre- 
cepts and  example  speak  to  us  from  the  grave  with  a  pa- 
ternal appeal ;  and  his  name — by  all  revered — forms  a 
universal  tie  of  brotherhood — a  watchword  of  our  Union. 

"  It  will  be  the  duty  of  the  historian  and  the  sage  of  6 
all  nations,"  writes  an  eminent  British  statesman  (Lord 
Brougham),  "  to  let  no  occasion  pass  of  commemorating 
this  illustrious  man,  and  until  time  shall  be  no  more  will 
a  test  of  the  progress  which  our  race  has  made  in  wisdom 
and  virtue  be  derived  from  the  veneration  paid  to  the 
immortal  name  of  Washington." 


CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS.— SKETCH  OF  HIS  EARLY 
LIFE  AND   EDUCATION, 


This  account  of  the  early  life  of  Columbus  should  he  read  as 
carefully  as  the  description  of  Washington's  early  years.  A  great 
impulse  was  given  to  navigation  and  exploration  during  the  age  of 
Columbus.  Some  of  the  most  important  explorations  were  made 
by  Italian  navigators.  Several  of  the  Italian  States  were  unsur- 
passed in  this  era  for  their  maritime  skill  and  enterprise. 

CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS,  or  Colombo,  as  the  name  is  1 
written  in  Italian,  was  born  in  the  city  of  Genoa,  about 
the  year  1435.     He  was  the  son  of  Dominico  Colombo, 
a  wool-comber,  and  Susannah  Fonatanarossa,  his  wife, 
and  it  would  seem  that  his  ancestors  had  followed  the 
same  handicraft  for  several  generations  in  Genoa.     At-  2 
tempts  have  been  made  to  prove  him  of  illustrious  de- 
scent, and  several  noble  houses  have  laid  claim  to  him 
a 


20  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

since  his  name  lias  become  so  renowned  as  to  confer 
rather  than  receive  distinction.  It  is  possible  some  of 
them  may  be  in  the  right,  for  the  feuds  in  Italy  in 
those  ages  had  broken  down  and  scattered  many  of  the 
noblest  families,  and  while  some  branches  remained  in  the 
lordly  heritage  of  castles  and  domains,  others  were  con- 

3  founded  with  the  humblest  population  of  the  cities.    The 
fact,  however,  is  not  material  to  his  fame  ;  and  it  is  a 
higher  proof  of  merit  to  be  the  object  of  contention  among 
various  noble  families  than  to  be  able  to  substantiate  the 
most  illustrious  lineage.     His  son  Fernando  had  a  true 
feeling  on  the  subject.     "  I  am  of  opinion,"  says  he,  *•  that 
I  should  derive  less  dignity  from  any  nobility  of  ancestry 
than  from  being  the  son  of  such  a  father." 

Columbus  was  the  oldest  of  four  children,  having  two 
brothers,  Bartholomew  and  Giacomo,  or  James  (written 
Diego  in  Spanish),  and  one  sister,  of  whom  nothing  is 
known  but  that,  she  was  married  to  a  person  in  obscure 

4  life,  called  Giacomo  Bavarello.     At  a  very  early  age  Co- 
lumbus evinced  a  decided  inclination  for  the  sea;  his  edu- 
cation, therefore,  was  mainly  directed  to  fit  him  for  mari- 
time life,  but  was  as  general  as  the  narrow  means  of  his 
father  would  permit.     Besides  the  ordinary  branches  of 
reading,   writing,  grammar,  and  arithmetic,  he  v.ras  in- 
structed in  the  Latin  tongue,  and  made  some  proficiency 

5  in  drawing  and  design.     For  a  short  time,  also,  he  was 
sent  to  the  University  at  Pavia,  where  he  studied  geom- 
etry, geography,  astronomy,  and  navigation.     He  then  re- 
turned to  Genoa,  where,  according  to  a  contemporary  his- 
torian, he  assisted  his  father  in  his  trade  of  wool-combing. 
This  assertion  is  indignantly  contradicted  by  his  son  Fer- 
nando, though  there  is  nothing  in  it  improbable,  and  he 
gives  us  no  information  of  his  father's  occupation  to  sup- 
ply its  place.     He  could  not,  however,  have  remained 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  21 

long  in  this  employment,  as,  according  to  his  own  account, 
he  entered  upon  a  nautical  life  when  but  fourteen  years 
of  age. 

In  tracing  the  early  history  of  a  man  like  Columbus,  6 
whose  actions  have  had  a  vast  effect  on  human  affairs,  it 
is  interesting  to  notice  how  much  has  been  owing  to  ex- 
ternal influences,  how  much  to  an  inborn  propensity  of 
the  genius.  In  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  when,  impressed 
with  the  sublime  events  brought  about  through  his 
agency,  Columbus  looked  back  upon  his  career  with  a 
solemn  and  superstitious  feeling,  he  attributed  his  early 
and  irresistible  inclination  for  the  sea,  and  his  passion 
for  geographical  studies,  to  an  impulse  from  the  Deity 
preparing  him  for  the  high  decrees  he  was  chosen  to 
accomplish. 

The  nautical  propensity,  however,  evinced  by  Colum-  7 
bus  in  early  life,  is  common  to  boys  of  enterprising  spirit 
and  lively  imagination  Brought  up  in  maritime  cities,  to 
whom  the  sea  is  the  high-road  to  adventure  and  the  re- 
gion of  romance.  Genoa,  too,  walled  in  and  straitened 
on  the  land  side  by  rugged  mountains,  yielded  but  little 
scope  for  enterprise  on  shore,  while  an  opulent  and  widely 
extended  commerce,  visiting  every  country,  and  a  roving 
marine,  battling  in  every  sea,  naturally  led  forth  her  chil- 
dren upon  the  waves,  as  their  propitious  element.  Many,  8 
too,  were  induced  to  emigrate  by  the  violent  factions 
which  raged  within  the  bosom  of  the  city,  and  often  dyed 
its  streets  with  blood.  A  historian  of  Genoa  laments  this 
proneness  of  its  youth  to  wander.  "  They  go,"  said  he, 
"  with  the  intention  of  returning  when  they  shall  have 
acquired  the  means  of  living  comfortably  and  honorably 
in  their  native  place  ;  but  we  know  from  long  experience 
that,  of  twenty  who  thus  depart,  scarce  two  return,  either 
dying  abroad,  or  taking  to  themselves  foreign  wives,  or 


22  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

being  loath  to  expose  themselves  to  the  tempest  of  civil 
discords  which  distract  the  republic." 
9  The  strong  passion  for  geographical  knowledge,  also, 
felt  by  Columbus  in  early  life,  and  which  inspired  his 
after-career,  was  incident  to  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 
Geographical  discovery  was  the  brilliant  path  of  light 
which  was  for  ever  to  distinguish  the  fifteenth  century. 
During  a  long  night  of  bigotry  and  fake  learning,  geog- 
raphy, with  the  other  sciences,  had  been  lost  to  the  Euro- 
pean nations.  Fortunately,  it  had  not  been  lost  to  man- 
kind ;  it  had  taken  refuge  in  the  bosom  of  Africa.  While 
the  pedantic  schoolmen  of  the  cloisters  were  wasting  time- 
and  talent,  and  confounding  erudition  by  idle  reveries  and 
sophistical  dialectics,  the  Arabian  sages  assembled  at  Sen- 
naar  were  taking  the  measurement  of  a  degree  of  latitude, 
and  calculating  the  circumference  of  the  earth  on  the  vast 
plains  of  Mesopotamia. 

10  True  knowledge,  thus  happily  preserved,  was  now 
making  its  way  back  to  Europe.     The  revival  of  science 
accompanied  the  revival  of  letters.     Among  the  various 
authors  which  the  awakening  zeal  for  ancient  literature 
had  once  more  brought  into  notice  were  Pliny,  Pomponius 
Mela,  and  Strabo.     From  these  was  regained  a  fund  of 
geographical  knowledge  which  had  long  faded  from  the 

11  public  mind.     Curiosity  was  aroused  to  pursue  this  for- 
gotten path  thus  suddenly  reopened.     A  translation  of 
the  work  of  Ptolemy  had  been  made  into  Latin  at  the 
commencement  of  the  century  by  Emanuel  Chrysoleras, 
a  noble  and  learned  Greek,  and  had  thus  been  rendered 
more  familiar  to  the  Italian  students.     Another  transla- 
tion had  followed,  by  James  Augel  de  Scarpiaria,  of  which 
fair  and  beautiful  copies  became  common  in  the  Italian 
libraries.     The  writings  also  began  to  be  sought  after  of 
Averroes,  Alfraganus,  and  other  Arabian  sages,  who  had 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  23 

kept  the  sacred  fire  of  science  alive  during  the  interval 
of  European  darkness. 

The  knowledge  thus  reviving  was  limited  and  imper- 12 
feet ;  yet,  like  the  return  of  morning  light,  it  seemed  to 
call  a  new  creation  into  existence,  and  broke  with  all  the 
charm  of  wonder  upon  imaginative  minds.  They  were 
surprised  at  their  own  ignorance  of  the  world  around 
them.  Every  step  was  discovery,  for  every  region  be- 
yond their  native  country  was  in  a  manner  terra  incog- 
nita. 

Such  was  the  state  of  information  and  feeling  with  13 
respect  to  this  interesting  science  in  the  early  part  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  An  interest  still  more  intense  was 
awakened  by  the  discoveries  which  began  to  be  made 
along  the  Atlantic  coasts  of  Africa,  and  must  have  been 
particularly  felt  among  a  maritime  and  commercial  people 
like  the  Genoese.  To  these  circumstances  may  we  ascribe 
the  enthusiastic  devotion  which  Columbus  imbibed  in  his 
childhood  for  cosmographical  studies,  and  which  influ- 
enced all  his  after-fortunes. 

The  short  time  passed  by  him  at  the  University  of  14 
Pavia  was  barely  sufficient  to  give  him  the  rudiments 
of  the  necessary  sciences  ;  the  familiar  acquaintance  with 
them  which  he  evinced  in  after-life  must  have  been  the 
result  of  diligent  self -schooling  in  casual  hours  of  study, 
amid  the  cares  and  vicissitudes  of  a  rugged  and  wander- 
ing life.  He  was  one  of  those  men  of  strong  natural 
genius  who,  from  having  to  contend  at  their  very  outset 
with  privations  and  impediments,  acquire  an  intrepidity 
in  encountering,  and  a  facility  in  vanquishing,  difficulties 
throughout  their  career.  Such  men  learn  to  effect  great 
purposes  with  small  means,  supplying  this  deficiency  by 
the  resources  of  their  own  energy  and  invention.  This, 
from  his  earliest  commencement  throughout  the  whole  of 


24  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

his  life,  was  one  of  the  remarkable  features  in  the  history 
of  Columbus.  In  every  undertaking  the  scantiness  and 
apparent  insufficiency  of  his  means  enhance  the  grandeur 
of  his  achievements. 


SKETCH    OF  WILLIAM    THE    SILENT. 
MOTLEY'S  "RISE  OF  THE  DUTCH  REPUBLIC." 

William  the  Silent  belonged  to  the  illustrious  house  of  Orange, 
and  was  the  ancestor  of  William  III  of  England.  (See  note  on 
Bishop  Burnet's  sketch  of  William  III.)  He  (William  the  Silent) 
was  the  leader  of  the  revolted  provinces  in  the  Low  Countries  dur- 
ing their  long  and  desperate  struggle  with  the  power  of  Spain.  In 
1584  he  fell  by  the  hand  of  an  assassin;  but  his  death  seemed  only 
to  inspire  his  followers  with  renewed  vigor  and  more  heroic  cour- 
age. His  title  of  the  "Silent"  is  somewhat  misleading,  as  he  was 
exceedingly  affable  and  agreeable  in  conversation.  It  is  derived 
from  a  certain  incident  in  his  life  of  great  interest,  which  the  stu- 
dent will  find  related  in  Motley's  history. 

1  THE  history  of  the  rise  of  the  Netherland  republic 
has  been  at  the  same  time  the  biography  of  William  the 
Silent.     This,  while  it  gives  unity  to  the  narrative,  ren- 
ders an  elaborate  description  of  his  character  superfluous. 
That  life  was  a  noble  Christian  epic,  inspired  with  one 
great  purpose  from  its  commencement  to  its  close,  the 
stream  flowing  ever  from  one  fountain  with  expanding 
fullness,  but  retaining  all  its  original   purity.     A  few 
general  observations  are  all  which  are  necessary  by  way 
of  conclusion. 

2  In  person,  Orange  was  above  the  middle  height,  per- 
fectly well  made  and  sinewy,  but  rather  spare  than  stout. 
His  eyes,  hair,  beard,  and  complexion  were  brown.     His 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  25 

head  was  small,  symmetrically  shaped,  combining  the 
alertness  and  compactness  characteristic  of  the  soldier, 
with  the  capacious  brow  furrowed  prematurely  with  the 
horizontal  lines  of  thought,  denoting  the  statesman  and 
the  sage.  His  physical  appearance  was  therefore  in  har- 
mony with  his  organization,  which  was  of  antique  model. 
Of  his  moral  qualities,  the  most  prominent  was  his  piety.  3 
He  was  more  than  anything  else  a  religious  man.  From 
his  trust  in  God  he  ever  derived  support  and  consolation 
in  the  darkest  hours.  Implicitly  relying  upon  Almighty 
wisdom  and  goodness,  he  looked  danger  in  the  face  with 
a  constant  smile,  and  endured  incessant  labors  and  trials 
with  a  serenity  which  seemed  more  than  human.  While, 
however,  his  soul  was  full  of  piety,  it  was  tolerant  of  er- 
ror. Sincerely  and  deliberately  himself  a  convert  to  the 
Reformed  Church,  he  was  ready  to  extend  freedom  of 
worship  to  Catholics  on  the  one  hand  and  to  Anabaptists 
on  the  other,  for  no  man  ever  felt  more  keenly  than  he 
that  the  reformer  who  becomes  in  his  turn  a  bigot  is 
doubly  odious.  .  .  . 

His  intellectual  faculties  were  various,  and  of  the  4 
highest  order.  He  had  the  exact,  practical,  and  combin- 
ing qualities  which  make  the  great  commander,  and  his 
friends  claimed  that  in  military  genius  he  was  second  to 
no  captain  in  Europe.  This  was,  no  doubt,  an  exaggera- 
tion of  partial  attachment ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  Em- 
peror Charles  had  an  exalted  opinion  of  his  capacity  for 
the  field.  His  fortification  of  Philippeville  and  Charle- 
mont  in  the  face  of  the  enemy ;  his  passage  of  the  Meuse 
in  Alva's  sight ;  his  unfortunate  but  well-ordered  cam- 
paign against  that  general ;  his  sublime  plan  of  relief, 
projected  and  successfully  directed -at  last  from  his  sick- 
bed, for  the  besieged  city  of  Ley  den — will  always  remain 
monuments  of  his  practical  military  skill. 


26  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

5  Of  the  soldier's  great  virtues — constancy  in  disaster, 
devotion  to  duty,  hopefulness  in  defeat — no  man  ever 
possessed  a  larger  share.     He  arrived,  through  a  series 
of  reverses,  at  a  perfect  victory.     He  planted  a  free  com- 
monwealth in  defiance  of  the  most  powerful  empire  exist- 
ing.    He  was  therefore  a  conqueror  in  the  loftiest  sense, 
for  he  conquered  liberty  and  a  national  existence  for  a 
whole  people.     The  contest  was  long,  and  he  fell  in  the 
struggle ;  but  the  victory  was  to  the  dead  hero,  not  to  the 

6  living  monarch.     It  is  to  be  remembered,  too,  that  he 
always  wrought  with  inferior  instruments.     His  troops 
were  usually  mercenaries,  who  were  but  too  apt  to  mutiny 
upon  the  eve  of  battle ;  while  he  was  opposed  by  the 
most  formidable  veterans   of  Europe,  commanded  suc- 
cessively by  the  first  captains  of  the  age.     That,  with  no 
lieutenant  of  eminent  valor  or  experience,  save  only  his 
brother  Louis,  and  with  none  at  all  after  that  chieftain's 
death,  William  of  Orange  should  succeed  in  baffling  the 
efforts  of  Alva,  Requesens,  Don  John  of  Austria,  and 
Alexander  Farnese — men  whose  names  are  among  the  most 
brilliant  in  the  military  annals  of  the  world — is  in  itself 
sufficient  evidence  of  his  warlike  ability.     At  the  period 
of  his  death  he  had  reduced  the  number  of  obedient  prov- 
inces to  two,  only  Artois  and  Hainault  acknowledging 
Philip,  while  the  other  fifteen  were  in  open  revolt,  the 
greater  part  having  solemnly  forsworn  their  sovereign. 

7  The  supremacy  of  his  political  genius  was  entirely 
beyond  question.     He  was  the  first  statesman  of  the  age. 
The  quickness  of  his  perception  was  only  equaled  by  the 
caution  which  enabled  him  to  mature  the  results  of  his 
observations.     His  knowledge  of  human  nature  was  pro- 
found.    He  governed  the  passions  and  sentiments  of  a 
great  nation  as  if  they  had  been  but  the  keys  and  chords 
of  one  vast  instrument;  and  his  hand  rarely  failed  to 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  27 

evoke  harmony  even  out  of  the  wildest  storms.  The  tur- 
bulent city  of  Ghent,  which  could  obey  no  other  master, 
which  even  the  haughty  Emperor  could  only  crush  with- 
out controlling,  was  ever  responsive  to  the  master-hand 
of  Orange.  His  presence  scared  away  Imbize  and  his 
bat-like  crew ;  confounded  the  schemes  of  John  Casimir ; 
frustrated  the  wiles  of  Prince  Chimay;  and,  while  he 
lived,  Ghent  was  what  it  ought  always  to  have  remained — 
the  bulwark,  as  it  had  been  the  cradle,  of  popular  liberty. 
After  his  death  it  became  its  tomb. 

Ghent,  saved  thrice  by  the  policy,  the  eloquence,  the  8 
self-sacrifices  of  Orange,  fell,  within  three  months  of  his 
murder,  into  the  hands  of  Parma.  The  loss  of  this  most 
important  city,  followed  in  the  next  year  by  the  downfall 
of  Antwerp,  sealed  the  fate  of  the  Southern  Netherlands. 
Had  the  Prince  lived,  how  different  might  have  been  the 
country's  fate !  If  seven  provinces  could  dilate  in  so 
brief  a  space  into  the  powerful  commonwealth  which  the 
republic  soon  became,  what  might  not  have  been  achieved 
by  the  united  seventeen — a  confederacy  which  would 
have  united  the  adamantine  vigor  of  the  Batavian  and 
Frisian  races  with  the  subtiler,  more  delicate,  and  more 
graceful  national  elements  in  which  the  genius  of  the 
Frank,  the  Roman,  and  the  Romanized  Celt  were  so  inti- 
mately blended !  As  long  as  the  father  of  the  country 
lived,  such  a  union  was  possible.  His  power  of  managing 
men  was  so  unquestionable  that  there  was  always  a  hope 
even  in  the  darkest  hour,  for  men  felt  implicit  reliance 
as  well  on  his  intellectual  resources  as  on  his  integrity. 

This  power  of  dealing  with  his  fellow-men  he  mani-  9 
fested  in  the  various  ways  in  which  it  has  been  usually 
exhibited  by  statesmen.     He  possessed  a  ready  eloquence 
— sometimes  impassioned,  oftener  argumentative,  always 
rational.    His  influence  over  his  audience  was  unexampled 


28  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

in  the  annals  of  that  country  or  age ;  yet  he  never  con- 
descended to  flatter  the  people.  He  never  followed  the 
nation,  but  always  led  her  in  the  path  of  duty  and  of 
honor,  and  was  much  more  prone  to  rebuke  the  vi<-<  s 
than  to  pander  to  the  passions  of  his  hearers.  He  n« 
failed  to  administer  ample  chastisement  to  parsimony,  to 
jealousy,  to  insubordination,  to  intolerance,  to  infidelity, 
wherever  it  was  due,  nor  feared  to  confront  the  states 
or  the  people  in  their  most  angry  hours,  and  to  tell  them 

1)  the  truth  to  their  faces.  This  commanding  position  he 
alone  could  stand  upon,  for  his  countrymen  knew  the 
generosity  which  had  sacrificed  his  all  for  them,  the  self- 
denial  which  had  eluded  rather  than  sought  political  ad- 
vancement, whether  from  king  or  people,  and  the  untir- 
ing devotion  which  had  consecrated  a  whole  life  to  toil 
and  danger  in  the  cause  of  their  emancipation.  "While, 
therefore,  he  was  ever  ready  to  rebuke,  and  always  too 
honest  to  flatter,  he  at  the  same  time  possessed  the  elo- 
quence which  could  convince  or  persuade,  lie  knew 
how  to  reach  both  the  mind  and  the  heart  of  his  hear 

II  1 1  is  orations,  whether  extemporaneous  or  prepared — his 
written  messages  to  the  states-general,  to  the  provincial 
authorities,  to   the  municipal  bodies — his  private  corre- 
spondence with  men  of  all  ranks,  from  emperors  and  k '. 
down  to  secretaries,  and  even  children,  all  show  an  < 
flow  of  language,  a  fullness  of  thought,  a  power  of 
pression  rare  in  that  age,  a  fund  of  historical  allusion,  a 
considerable  power  of  imagination,  a  warmth  of  senti- 
ment, a  breadth  of  view,  a  directness  of  purpose — a  range 
of  qualities,  in  short,  which  would  in  themselves  have 
stamped  him  as  one  of  the  master-minds  of  his  century, 
had  there  been  no  other  monument  to  his  memory  than 
the  remains  of  his  spoken  or  written  eloquence.     The 
bulk  of  his  performances  in   this  department  was  pro- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  29 

digious.  Not  even  Philip  was  more  industrious  in  the 
cabinet.  Not  even  Granvelle  held  a  more  facile  pen. 
He  wrote  and  spoke  equally  well  in  French,  German,  or 
Flemish ;  and  he  possessed,  besides,  Spanish,  Italian,  and 
Latin.  The  weight  of  his  correspondence  alone  would  12 
have  almost  sufficed  for  the  common  industry  of  a  life- 
time, and  although  many  volumes  of  his  speeches  and 
letters  have  been  published,  there  remain  in  the  various 
archives  of  the  Netherlands  and  Germany  many  docu- 
ments from  his  hand  which  will  probably  never  see  the 
light.  If  the  capacity  for  unremitted  intellectual  labor 
in  an  honorable  cause  be  the  measure  of  human  greatness, 
fow  minds  could  be  compared  to  the  "  large  composition" 
of  this  man.  The  efforts  made  to  destroy  the  Nether- 
lands by  the  most  laborious  and  painstaking  of  tyrants 
were  counteracted  by  the  industry  of  the  most  indefati- 
gable of  patriots. 

Thus  his  eloquence,  oral  or  written,  gave  him  almost  13 
boundless  power  over  his  countrymen.  He  possessed, 
also,  a  rare  perception  of  human  character,  together  with 
an  iron  memory  which  never  lost  a  face,  a  place,  or  an 
event,  once  seen  or  known.  He  read  the  minds — even 
the  faces — of  men  like  printed  books.  No  man  could 
overreach  him,  excepting  only  those  to  whom  he  gave 
his  heart.  He  might  be  mistaken  where  he  had  confided, 
never  where  he  had  been  distrustful  or  indifferent.  He 
was  deceived  by  Renneberg,  by  his  brother-in-law,  Yan 
den  Berg,  by  the  Duke  of  Anjou.  Had  it  been  possible 
for  his  brother  Louis  or  his  brother  John  to  have  proved 
false,  he  might  have  been  deceived  by  them.  lie  was 
never  outwitted  by  Philip,  or  Granvelle,  or  Don  John, 
or  Alexander  of  Parma.  Anna  of  Saxony  was  false  to 
him,  and  entered  into  correspondence  with  the  royal  gov- 
ernors and  with  the  King  of  Spain ;  Charlotte  of  Bourbon 


30  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

or  Louisa  de  Coligny  might  have  done  the  same  had  it 
been  possible  for  their  natures  also  to  descend  to  such 
depths  of  guile.  .  .  . 

14  His  enemies  have  been   able  to  find  few  flaws  in 
his  nature,  and  therefore  have  denounced  it  in  gross.     It 
is  not  that  his  character  was  here  and  there  defective,  but 
that  the  eternal  jewel  was  false.     The  patriotism  was 
counterfeit ;  the  self-abnegation  and  the  generosity  were 
counterfeit.     He  was  governed  only  by  ambition — by  a 
desire  of  personal  advancement.     They  never  attempted 
to  deny  his  talents,  his  industry,  his   vast   sacrifices  of 
wealth  and  station  ;  but  they  ridiculed  the  idea  that  he 
could  have  been  inspired  by  any  but  unworthy  motives. 

15  God  alone  knows   the  heart  of  man.     He  alone  can  un- 
weave the  tangled  skein  of  human  motives,  and  detect 
the  hidden  springs  of  human  action,  but,  as  far  as  can  be 
judged  by  a  careful  observation  of  undisputed  facts,  and 
by  a  diligent  collation  of  public  and  private  documents, 
it  would  seem  that  no  man — not  even  Washington — has 

•  ever  been  inspired  by  a  purer  patriotism.  At  any  rate, 
the  charge  of  ambition  and  self-seeking  can  only  be  an- 
swered by  a  reference  to  the  whole  picture  which  these 
volumes  have  attempted  to  portray.  The  words,  the 
deeds  of  the  man  are  there.  As  much  as  possible,  his 
inmost  soul  is  revealed  in  his  confidential  letters,  and 
he  who  looks  in  a  right  spirit  will  hardly  fail  to  find 
what  he  desires. 

16  Whether  originally  of  a  timid  temperament  or  not, 
he  was  certainly  possessed  of  perfect  courage  at  last.     In 
siege  and  battle,  in  the  deadly  air  of  pestilential  cities,  in 
the  long  exhaustion  of  mind  and  body  which  comes  from 
unduly  protracted  labor  and  anxiety,  amid  the  countless 
conspiracies  of  assassins,  he  was  daily  exposed  to  death  in 
every  shape.     Within  two  years  five  different  attempts 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  31 

against  his  life  had  been  discovered.  Rank  and  fortune 
were  offered  to  any  malefactor  who  would  compass  the 
murder.  He  had  already  been  shot  through  the  head, 
and  almost  mortally  wounded.  Under  such  circumstances 
even  a  brave  man  might  have  seen  a  pitfall  at  every  step, 
a  dagger  in  every  hand,  and  poison  in  every  cup.  On 
the  contrary,  he  was  ever  cheerful,  and  hardly  took  more 
precaution  than  usual.  "  God,  in  his  mercy,"  said  lie,  17 
with  unaffected  simplicity,  "  will  maintain  my  innocence 
and  my  honor  during  my  life  and  in  future  ages.  As  to 
my  fortune  and  my  life,  I  have  dedicated  both,  long  since, 
to  his  service.  He  will  do  therewith  what  pleases  him  for 
his  glory  and  my  salvation."  Thus  his  suspicions  were  not 
even  excited  by  the  ominous  face  of  Gerard,  when  he  first 
presented  himself  at  the  dining-room  door.  The  Prince 
laughed  off  his  wife's  prophetic  apprehension  at  the  sight 
of  his  murderer,  and  was  as  cheerful  as  usual  to  the  last. 

He  possessed,  too,  that  which  to  the  heathen  philoso- 18 
pher  seemed  the  greatest  good — the  sound  mind  in  the 
sound  body.  His  physical  frame  was  after  death  found 
so  perfect  that  a  long  life  might  have  been  in  store  for 
him,  notwithstanding  all  which  he  had  endured.  The 
desperate  illness  of  1574,  the  frightful  gunshot  wound 
inflicted  by  Jaureguy  in  1582,  had  left  no  traces.  The 
physicians  pronounced  that  his  body  presented  an  aspect 
of  perfect  health.  His  temperament  was  cheerful.  At 
table,  the  pleasures  of  which  in  moderation  were  his  only 
relaxation,  he  was  always  animated  and  merry,  and  this 
jocoseness  was  partly  natural,  partly  intentional.  In  the 
darkest  hours  of  his  country's  trial  he  affected  a  serenity 
which  he  was  far  from  feeling,  so  that  his  apparent  gayety 
at  momentous  epochs  was  even  censured  by  dullards,  who 
could  not  comprehend  its  philosophy,  nor  applaud  the 
flippancy  of  William  the  Silent. 


32  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

19  He  went  through  life,  bearing  the  load  of  a  people's 
sorrows  upon  his  shoulders,  with  a  smiling  face.  Their 
name  was  the  last  word  upon  his  lips,  save  the  simple 
affirmative  with  which  the  soldier,  who  had  been  battling 
for  the  right  all  his  lifetime,  commended  his  soul  in  dy- 
ing "  to  his  great  captain,  Christ."  The  people  were 
grateful  and  affectionate,  for  they  trusted  the  character 
of  their  "  Father  William,"  and  not  all  the  clouds  which 
calumny  could  collect  ever  dimmed  to  their  eyes  the  ra- 
diance of  that  lofty  mind,  to  which  they  were  accustomed 
in  their  darkest  calamities  to  look  for  light.  As  long  as 
he  lived  he  was  the  guiding-star  of  a  whole  brave  nation, 
and  when  he  died  the  little  children  cried  in  the  streets. 


JOHN    HAMPDEN— HIS  CHARACTER.— HIS   DEATH. 
MAOAULAY'B  "  ESSAYS." 

John  Hampden  was  one  of  the  first  martyrs  in  the  great  civil 
war  that  ended  in  the  temporary  overthrow  of  the  English  mon- 
archy, the  death  of  Charles  I,  and  the  rise  of  Cromwell  to  absolute 
power.  This  period  is  one  of  the  most  instructive  in  modern  his- 
tory, and  one  exceedingly  difficult  to  estimate  properly.  The  stu- 
dent may  consult  with  advantage  Masson's  *'  Life  and  Times  of 
Milton,"  Greene's  "  Short  History  of  the  English  People,"  Macau- 
lay's  "  Essay  on  Hallam's  Constitutional  History  of  England,"  Von 
Ranke's  "History  of  England,  principally  in  the  Seventeenth  Cen- 
tury." 

1  IN  the  evening  of  the  seventeenth  of  June  Rupert 
darted  out  of  Oxford  with  his  cavalry  on  a  predatory 
expedition.  At  three  in  the  morning  of  the  following 
day  he  attacked  and  dispersed  a  few  parliamentary  sol- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  33 

diers  who  lay  at  Postcombe.  He  then  flew  to  Chinnor, 
burned  the  village,  killed  or  took  all  the  troops  who  were 
quartered  there,  and  prepared  to  hurry  back  with  his 
booty  and  his  prisoners  to  Oxford. 

Hampden  had,  on  the  preceding  day,  strongly  rep-  2 
resented  to  Essex  the  danger  to  which  this  part  of  the 
line  was  exposed.  As  soon  as  he  received  intelligence  of 
Rupert's  incursion,  he  sent  off  a  horseman  with  a  mes- 
sage to  the  General.  The  cavaliers,  he  said,  could  return 
only  by  Cbiselhampton  Bridge.  A  force  ought  to  be  in- 
stantly dispatched  in  that  direction  for  the  purpose  of  in- 
tercepting them.  In  the  mean  time  he  resolved  to  set  out 
with  all  the  cavalry  that  he  could  muster,  for  the  purpose 
of  impeding  the  march  of  the  enemy  till  Essex  could  take 
measures  for  cutting  off  their  retreat.  A  considerable  3 
body  of  horse  and  dragoons  volunteered  to  follow  him. 
He  was  not  their  commander.  He  did  not  even  belong 
to  their  branch  of  the  service.  But  "  he  was,"  says  Lord 
Clarendon,  "  second  to  none  but  the  General  himself  in 
the  observance  and  application  of  all  men."  On  the 
field  of  Chalgrove  he  came  up  with  Rupert.  A  fierce 
skirmish  ensued.  In  the  first  charge  Hampden  was  struck 
in  the  shoulder  by  two  bullets,  which  broke  the  bone  and 
lodged  in  his  body.  The  troops  of  the  Parliament  lost 
heart  and  gave  way.  Rupert,  after  pursuing  them  for  a 
short  time,  hastened  to  cross  the  bridge,  and  made  his 
retreat  unmolested  to  Oxford. 

Ilampden,  with  his  head  drooping  and  his  hands  lean-  4 
ing  on  his  horse's  neck,  moved  feebly  out  of  the  battle. 
The  mansion  which  had  been  inhabited  by  his  father-in- 
law,  and  from  which  in  his  youth  he  had  carried  home 
his  bride  Elizabeth,  was  in  sight.  There  still  remains  an 
affecting  tradition  that  he  looked  for  a  moment  toward 
that  beloved  house,  and  made  an  effort  to  go  thither  to 


34  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

die.  But  the  enemy  lay  in  that  direction.  He  turned 
his  horse  toward  Thame,  where  he  arrived  almost  faint- 
ing with  agony.  The  surgeons  dressed  his  wounds.  But 
there  was  no  hope.  The  pain  which  he  suffered  was  most 
excruciating.  But  he  endured  it  with  admirable  firmness 

5  and  resignation.     His  first  care  was  for  his  country.     He 
wrote  from  his  bed  several  letters  to  London  concerning 
public  affairs,  and  sent  a  last  pressing  message  to  the 
headquarters   recommending   that   the   dispersed    forces 
should  be  concentrated.     When  his  public  duties  were 
performed,  he  calmly  prepared  himself  to  die.     He  was 
attended  by  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England,  with 
whom  he  had  lived  in  habits  of  intimacy,  and  by  the 
chaplain  of  the  Buckinghamshire  Green-coats,  Dr.  Spur- 
ton,  whom  Baxter  describes  as  a  famous  and  excellent 
divine. 

6  A  short  time  before  Hampden's  death  the  sacrament 
was  administered  to  him.     He  declared  that,  though  he 
disliked  the  government  of  the  Church  of  England,  he 
yet  agreed  with  that  Church  as  to  all  essential  matters  of 
doctrine.     His  intellect  remained  unclouded.     When  all 
was  nearly  over,  he  lay  murmuring  faint  prayers  for  him- 
self and  for  the  cause  in  which  he  died.     "  Lord  Jesus," 
he  exclaimed,  in  the  moment  of  the  last  agony,  "  receive 
nay  soul !     O  Lord  !   save  my  country !     O  Lord !    be 
merciful  to —       In  that  broken  ejaculation  passed  away 
his  noble  and  fearless  spirit. 

7  He  was  buried  in  the  parish  church  of  Hampden. 
His  soldiers,  bareheaded,  with  reversed  arms  and  muffled 
drums  and  colors,  escorted  his  body  to  the  grave,  singing 
as  they  marched  that  lofty  and   melancholy  psalm  in 
which  the  fragility  of  human  life  is  contrasted  with  the 
immutability  of  him  to  whom  a  thousand  years  are  as 
yesterday  when  it  is  passed,  and  as  a  watch  in  the  night. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  SS 

The  news  of  Hampden's  death  produced  as  great  a  8 
consternation  in  his  party,  according  to  Clarendon,  as  if 
their  whole  army  had  been  cut  off.  The  journals  of  the 
time  amply  prove  that  the  Parliament  and  all  its  friends 
were  filled  with  grief  and  dismay.  Lord  Nugent  has 
quoted  a  remarkable  passage  from  the  next  "  Weekly 
Intelligencer":  "The  loss  of  Colonel  Hampden  goeth 
near  the  heart  of  every  man  that  loves  the  good  of  his 
king  and  country,  and  makes  some  conceive  little  content 
to  be  at  the  army  now  that  he  is  gone.  The  memory  of 
this  deceased  colonel  is  such  that  in  no  age  to  come  but 
it  will  more  and  more  be  had  in  honor  and  esteem ;  a 
man  so  religious,  and  of  that  prudence,  judgment,  tem- 
per, valor,  and  integrity,  that  he  hath  but  few  his  like 
behind." 

He  had,  indeed,  left  none  his  like  behind  him.  There  9 
still  remained,  indeed,  in  his  party  many  acute  intellects, 
many  eloquent  tongues,  many  brave  and  honest  hearts. 
There  still  remained  a  rugged  and  clownish  soldier,  half 
fanatic,  half  buffoon,  whose  talents,  discerned  as  yet  only 
by  one  penetrating  eye,  were  equal  to  all  the  highest 
duties  of  the  soldier  and  the  prince.  But  in  Hampden, 
and  in  Hampden  alone,  were  united  all  the  qualities 
which,  at  such  a  crisis,  were  necessary  to  save  the  state : 
the  valor  and  energy  of  Cromwell ;  the  discernment  and 
eloquence  of  Yane;  the  humanity  and  moderation  of 
Manchester ;  the  stern  integrity  of  Hale ;  the  ardent 
public  spirit  of  Sydney.  Others  might  possess  the  quali- 10 
ties  which  were  necessary  to  save  the  popular  party  in 
the  crisis  of  danger ;  he  alone  had  both  the  power  and 
the  inclination  to  restrain  its  excesses  in  the  hour  of  tri- 
umph. Others  could  conquer ;  he  alone  could  reconcile. 
A  heart  as  bold  as  his  brought  up  the  cuirassiers  who 
turned  the  tide  of  battle  on  Marston  Moor.  As  skillful 


36  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

an  eye  as  his  watched  the  Scotch  army  descending  from 
11  the  heights  over  Dunbar.  But  it  was  when  to  the  sullen 
tyranny  of  Laud  and  Charles  had  succeeded  the  fierce 
conflict  of  sects  and  factions,  ambitious  of  ascendancy  and 
burning  for  revenge — it  was  when  the  vices  and  igno- 
rance which  the  old  tyranny  had  generated  threatened  the 
new  freedom  with  destruction — that  England  missed  the 
sobriety,  the  self-command, "the  perfect  soundness  of  judg- 
ment, the  perfect  rectitude  of  intention,  to  which  the  his- 
tory of  revolutions  furnishes  no  parallel,  or  furnishes  a 
parallel  in  Washington  alone. 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  OF   PRUSSIA.— HIS   HABITS. 
—HIS  MANNER  OF  CONDUCTING   PUBLIC  AFFAIRS. 

MACAULAY'B  "ESSAYS." 

Frederick  the  Great  of  Prussia  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
historical  characters  of  modern  times.  As  a  military  commander  he 
may  be  ranked  with  Napoleon  and  Marlborough.  His  successes 
were  generally  achieved  while  contending  against  resources  much 
more  powerful  than  his  own.  It  was  his  indomitable  energy,  as 
well  as  his  splendid  military  talents,  that  paved  the  way  for  the 
present  commanding  position  of  Prussia  as  the  leading  power  in 
Germany,  if  not  in  Europe.  The  student  should  read  Macaulay's 
Essay  in  full,  and  Carlyle's  "  Life  of  Frederick  the  Great." 

1  FREDERICK  had  from  the  commencement  of  his  reign 
applied  himself  to  public  business  after  a  fashion  un- 
known among  kings.  Louia  XIV,  indeed,  had  been  his 
own  prime  minister,  and  had  exercised  a  general  superin- 
tendence over  all  the  departments  of  the  Government ; 
but  this  was  not  sufficient  for  Frederick.  He  was  not 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  37 

content  with  being  his  own  prime  minister — he  would  be 
his  own  sole  minister.  Under  him  there  was  no  room, 
not  merely  for  a  Richelieu  or  a  Mazarin,  but  for  a  Col- 
bert, a  Louvois,  or  a  Torcj.  A  love  of  labor  for  its  own 
sake ;  a  restless  and  insatiable  longing  to  dictate,  to  inter- 
meddle, to  make  his  power  felt ;  a  profound  scorn  and 
distrust  of  his  fellow-creatures — indisposed  him  to  ask 
counsel,  to  confide  important  secrets,  to  delegate  ample 
powers.  The  highest  functionaries  under  his  government  2 
were  mere  clerks,  and  were  not  so  much  trusted  by  him 
as  valuable  clerks  are  often  trusted  by  the  heads  of  de- 
partments. He  was  his  own  treasurer,  his  own  command- 
er-in-chief,  his  own  intendant  of  public  works,  his  own 
minister  for  trade  and  justice,  for  home  affairs  and  for- 
eign affairs;  his  own  master  of  the  horse,  steward,  and 
chamberlain.  Matters  of  which  no  chief  of  an  office  in 
any  other  government  would  ever  hear  were  in  this  sin- 
gular monarchy  decided  by  the  King  in  person.  If  a 
traveler  wished  for  a  good  place  to  see  a  review,  he  had 
to  write  to  Frederick,  and  received  next  day  from  a  royal 
messenger  Frederick's  answer,  signed  by  Frederick's  own 
hand.  This  was  an  extravagant,  a  morbid  activity.  The  3 
public  business  would  assuredly  have  been  better  done  if 
each  department  had  been  put  under  a  man  of  talents 
and  integrity,  and  if  the  King  had  contented  himself 
with  a  general  control.  In  this  manner  the  advantages 
which  belong  to  unity  of  design  and  the  advantages 
which  belong  to  the  division  of  labor  would  have  been  to 
a  great  extent  combined.  But  such  a  system  would  not  4 
have  suited  the  peculiar  temper  of  Frederick.  He  could 
tolerate  no  will,  no  reason  in  the  state,  save  his  own.  He 
wished  for  no  abler  assistance  than  that  of  penmen  who 
had  just  understanding  enough  to  translate,  to  transcribe, 
to  make  out  his  scrawls,  and  to  put  his  concise  Yes  and 


38  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

No  into  an  official  form.  Of  the  higher  intellectual  fac- 
ulties there  is  as  much  in  a  copying  machine  or  a  litho- 
graphic press  as  he  required  from  a  secretary  of  the 
cabinet. 

5  His  own  exertions  were  such  as  were  hardly  to  be  ex- 
pected from  a  human  body,  or  a  human  mind.     At  Pots- 
dam, his  ordinary  residence,  he  rose  at  three  in  summer 
and  four  in  winter.     A  page  soon  appeared,  with  a  large 
basketful  of  all  the  letters  which   had  arrived  for  the 
king  by  the  last  courier — dispatches  from  ambassadors, 
reports  from  officers  of  revenue,  plans  of  buildings,  pro- 
posals for   draining  marshes,  complaints   from   persons 
who  thought    themselves   aggrieved,  applications  from 
persons  who  wanted  titles,  military  commissions,  and  civil 
situations.     He  examined  the  seals  with  a  keen  eye,  for 
he  was  never  for  a  monent  free  from  the  suspicion  that 
some  fraud  might  be  practiced  on  him.     Then  he  read 
the  letters,  divided  them  into  several  packets,  and  signi- 
fied his  pleasure,  generally  by  a  mark,  often  by  two  or 
three  words,  now  and  then  by  some  cutting  epigram. 

6  By  eight  he  had  generally  finished  this  part  of  his  ta>k. 
The  Adjutant-General  was  then  in  attendance,  and  re- 
ceived instructions  for  the  day  as  to  all  the  military  ar- 
rangements of  the  kingdom.     Then  the  King  went  to 
review  his  guards,  not  as  kings  ordinarily  review  their 
guards,  but  with  the  minute  attention  and  severity  of  an 
old  drill-sergeant.     In  the  mean  time  the  four  cabinet 
secretaries  had  been  employed  in  answering  the  letters 
on  which  the  King  had  that  morning  signified  his  will. 
These  unhappy  men  were  forced  to  work  all  the  year 
round  like  negro-slaves   in  the  time  of  the  sugar  crop. 
They  never  had  a  holiday.     They  never  knew  what  it 
was  to  dine.     It  was  necessary  that  before  they  stirred 

7  they  should  finish  the  whole  of  their  work.     The  King, 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  39 

always  on  his  guard  against  treachery,  took  from  the 
heap  a  handful  at  random,  and  looked  into  them  to  see 
whether  his  instructions  had  been  exactly  followed. 
This  was  no  bad  security  against  foul  play  on  the  part  of 
the  secretaries ;  for,  if  one  of  them  were  detected  in  a 
trick,  he  might  think  himself  fortunate  if  he  escaped  with 
five  years'  imprisonment  in  a  dungeon.  Frederick  then 
signed  the  replies,  and  all  were  sent  off  the  same  even- 
ing. 

The  general  principles  on  which  this  strange  govern-  8 
ment  was  conducted  deserve  attention.  The  policy  of 
Frederick  was  essentially  the  same  as  his  father's ;  but 
Frederick,  while  he  carried  that  policy  to  lengths  to  which 
his  father  never  thought  of  carrying  it,  cleared  it  at  the 
same  time  from  the  absurdities  with  which  his  father  had 
encumbered  it.  The  King's  first  object  was  to  have  a 
great,  efficient,  and  well-trained  army.  He  had  a  king- 
dom which  in  extent  and  population  was  hardly  in  the 
second  rank  of  European  powers ;  and  yet  he  aspired  to 
a  place  not  inferior  to  that  of  the  sovereigns  of  England, 
France,  and  Austria.  For  that  end  it  was  necessary  that  9 
Prussia  should  be  all  sting.  Louis  XV,  with  five  times 
as  many  subjects  as  Frederick,  and  more  than  five  times 
as  large  a  revenue,  had  not  a  more  formidable  army. 
The  proportion  which  the  soldiers  in  Prussia  bore  to 
the  people  seems  hardly  credible.  Of  the  males  in  the 
vigor  of  life,  a  seventh  part  were  probably  under  arms ; 
and  this  great  force  had,  by  drilling,  by  reviewing,  and 
by  the  unsparing  use  of  cane  and  scourge,  been  taught  to 
perform  all  evolutions  with  a  rapidity  and  a  precision 
which  would  have  astonished  Yillars  or  Eugene.  The  10 
elevated  feelings  which  are  necessary  to  the  best  kind  of 
army  were  then  wanting  to  the  Prussian  service.  In 
those  ranks  were  not  found  the  religious  and  political  en- 


40  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

thusiasm  which  inspired  the  pikemen  of  Cromwell — the 
patriotic  ardor,  the  thirst  of  glory,  the  devotion  to  a  great 
leader,  which  inflamed  the  Old  Guard  of  Napoleon.  But, 
in  all  the  mechanical  parts  of  the  military  calling,  the 
Prussians  were  as  superior  to  the  English  and  French 
troops  of  that  day  as  the  English  and  French  troops  to  a 
rustic  militia. 

11  Though  the  pay  of  the  Prussian  soldier  was  small, 
though  every  rixdollar  of  extraordinary  charge  was  scru- 
tinized by  Frederick  with  a  vigilance  and  suspicion  such 
as  Mr.  Joseph  Hume  never  brought  to  the  examination 
of  an  army  estimate,  the  expense  of  such  an  establish- 
ment was,  for  the  means  of  the  country,  enormous.     In 
order  that  it  might  not  be  utterly  ruinous,  it  was  neces- 
sary that  every  other  expense  should  be  cut  down  to  the 

12  lowest  possible  point.      Accordingly  Frederick,  though 
his  dominions  bordered  on  the  sea,  had  no  navy.     He 
neither  had  nor  wished  to  have  colonies.     His  judges,  his 
fiscal  officers,  were  meanly  paid.     His  ministers  at  for- 
eign courts  walked  on  foot,  or  drove  shabby  old  carriages 
till  the  axle-trees  gave  way.     Even  to  his  highest  diplo- 
matic agents,  who  resided  at  London  and  Paris,  he  al- 
lowed less  than  a  thousand  pounds  sterling  a  year.     The 
royal  household  was  managed  with  a  frugality  unusual  in 
the  establishments  of  opulent  subjects — unexampled  in 
any  other  palace.    The  King  loved  good  eating  and  drink- 
ing, and  during  great   part  of  his  life  took  pleasure  in 
seeing  his  table  surrounded  by  guests;   yet  the  whole 
charge  of  his  kitchen  was  brought  within  the  sum  of  two 

13  thousand  pounds  sterling  a  year.      He  examined  every 
extraordinary  item  with  a  care  which  might  be  thought 
to  suit  the  mistress  of  a  boarding-house  better  than  a 
great  prince.      When  more  than    four   rixdollars   were 
asked  of  him  for  a  hundred  oysters,  he  stormed  as  if  he 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  41 

had  heard  that  one  of  his  generals  had  sold  a  fortress  to 
the  Empress-Queen.  Not  a  bottle  of  champagne  was  un- 
corked without  his  express  order.  The  game  of  the  royal 
parks  and  forests,  a  serious  head  of  expenditure  in  most 
kingdoms,  was  to  him  a  source  of  profit.  The  whole  was 
farmed  out ;  and,  though  the  farmers  were  almost  ruined 
by  their  contract,  the  king  would  grant  them  no  remis- 
sion. His  wardrobe  consisted  of  one  fine  gala  dress,  14 
which  lasted  him  all  his  life ;  of  two  or  three  old  coats 
fit  for  Mon  mouth  Street,  of  yellow  waistcoats  soiled  with 
snuff,  and  of  huge  boots  embrowned  by  time.  One  taste 
alone  sometimes  allured  him  beyond  the  limits  of*  parsi- 
mony—nay, even  beyond  the  limits  of  prudence — the 
taste  for  building.  In  all  other  things  his  economy 
was  such  as  we  might  call  by  a  harsher  name,  if  we  did 
not  reflect  that  his  funds  were  drawn  from  a  heavily- 
taxed  people,  and  that  it  was  impossible  for  him,  with- 
out excessive  tyranny,  to  keep  up  at  once  a  formida- 
ble army  and  a  splendid  court. 


EFFECT   OF    HISTORICAL  READING.— WHAT   CONSTI- 
TUTES A    PERFECT    HISTORY. 

MACATTLAY'S   "ESSAYS." 

Lord  Macaulay  here  sets  forth  his  ideal  of  a  perfect  history.  This 
extract  should  be  compared  with  the  extract  from  Carlyle's  "  Essay 
on  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,"  Croker's  edition.  A  perfect  history 
is  the  exhibition  "of  an  age  in  miniature."  It  strives  to  portray 
the  inner  life  of  a  nation,  to  show  what  men  actually  were,  in  dif- 
ferent ages  and  under  varying  conditions.  Macaulay  has  striven  to 
realize  this  ideal  in  his  "History  of  England,"  and  has  entirely  re- 


49  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

versed  the  ancient  modes  of  historical  composition.  His  method 
has  been  imitated  by  many  late  writers,  so  that  he  may  be  said  to 
have  founded  a  new  historical  school. 

1  THE  effect  of  historical  reading  is  analogous  in  many 
respects  to  that  produced  by  foreign  travel.      The  stu- 
dent, like  the  tourist,  is  transported  into  a  new  state  of 
society.     He  sees  new  fashions.     He  hears  new  modes  of 
expression.     His  mind  is  enlarged  by  contemplating  the 
wide  diversities  of  laws,  of  morals,  and  of  manners.     l>ut 
men  may  travel  far,  and  return  with  minds  as  contracted 
as  if  they  had  never  stirred  from  their  own  market-town. 

2  In  the  same  manner  men  may  know  the  dates  of  many 
battles,  and  the  genealogies  of  many  royal  houses,  and  yet 
be  no  wiser.     Most  people  look  at  past  times  as  princes 
look  at   foreign   countries.     More   than  one   illustrious 
stranger  has  landed  on  our  island  amid  the  shouts  of  a 
mob,  has  dined  with  the  king,  has  hunted  with  the  mas- 
ter of  the  stag-hounds,  has  seen  the  Guards  reviewed,  ;md 
a  knight  of  the  garter  installed;  has  oantm-d  along   Ur- 
gent Street ;  has  visited  St.  Paul's,  and  noted  down  its 
dimensions,  and  has  then  departed,  thinking  that  he  lias 

3  seen  England.     He  has,  in  fact,  seen  a  few  public  build- 
ings,  public   men,  and  public  ceremonies.     But  of  the 
vast  and  complex  system  of  society,  of  the  fine  shades 
of  national  character,  of  the  practical  operation  of  gov- 
ernment and  laws,  he  knows  nothing.     He  who  would 
understand   these   things   rightly   must  not  confine   his 
observations  to  palaces  and  solemn  days.     IK-  must  see 
ordinary  men  as  they  appear  in  their  ordinary  business 
and    in   their   ordinary  pleasures.     He  must  mingle  in 
the  crowds  of  the  exchange  and  the  coffee-house.     He 
must  obtain  admittance  to  the  convivial  table  and  the  do- 
mestic hearth.     He  must  bear  with  vulgar  expressions. 
He  must  not  shrink  from  exploring  even  the  retreats  of 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  43 

misery.  He  who  wishes  to  understand  the  condition  of  4 
mankind  in  former  ages  must  proceed  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple. If  he  attends  only  to  public  transactions,  to  wars, 
congresses,  and  debates,  his  studies  will  be  as  unprofitable 
as  the  travels  of  those  imperial,  royal,  and  serene  sover- 
eigns who  form  their  judgment  of  our  island  from  having 
gone  in  state  to  a  few  fine  sights,  and  from  having  held 
formal  conferences  with  a  few  great  officers. 

The  perfect  historian  is  he  in  whose  work  the  charac-  5 
ter  and  spirit  of  an  age  is  exhibited  in  miniature.  He  re- 
lates no  fact,  he  attributes  no  expression  to  his  characters, 
which  is  not  authenticated  by  sufficient  testimony.  But 
by  judicious  selection,  rejection,  and  arrangement,  he 
gives  to  truth  those  attractions  which  have  been  usurped 
by  fiction.  In  his  narrative  a  due  subordination  is  ob- 
served ;  some  transactions  are  prominent,  others  retire. 
But  the  scale  on  which  he  represents  them  is  increased  or  6 
diminished,  not  according  to  the  dignity  of  the  persons 
concerned  in  them,  but  according  to  the  degree  in  which 
they  elucidate  the  condition  of  society  and  the  nature  of 
man.  He  shows  us  the  court,  the  camp,  and  the  senate. 
But  he  shows  us  also  the  nation.  He  considers  no  anec- 
dote, no  peculiarity  of  manner,  no  familiar  saying,  as  too 
insignificant  for  his  notice,  which  is  not  too  insignificant 
to  illustrate  the  operation  of  laws,  of  religion,  and  of  edu- 
cation, and  to  mark  the  progress  of  the  human  mind. 
Men  will  not  merely  be  described,  but  will  be  made  inti- 
mately known  to  us.  The  changes  of  manners  will  be 
indicated,  not  merely  by  a  few  general  phrases,  or  a  few 
extracts  from  statistical  documents,  but  by  appropriate 
images  presented  in  every  line. 

If  a  man  such  as  we  are  supposing  should  write  the  7 
history  of  England,  he  would  assuredly  not  omit  the  bat- 
tles, the  sieges,  the  negotiations,  the  seditions,  the  min- 


44  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

isterial  changes.  But  with  these  he  would  intersperse 
the  details  which  are  the  charm  of  historical  romances. 
At  Lincoln  Cathedral  there  is  a  beautiful,  painted  win- 
dow, which  was  made  by  an  apprentice  out  of  the  pieces 
of  glass  which  had  been  rejected  by  his  master.  It  is  so 
far  superior  to  every  other  in  the  church  that,  according 
to  the  tradition,  the  vanquished  artist  killed  himself  from 

8  mortification.     Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  the  same  manner,  has 
used  those  fragments  of  truth  which  historians  have  scorn- 
fully thrown  behind  them  in  a  manner  which  may  well 
excite  their  envy.     He  has  constructed  out  of  their  glean- 
ings works  which,  even  considered  as  histories,  are  scarcely 
less  valuable  than  theirs.    But  a  truly  great  historian  would 
reclaim  those  materials  which  the  novelist  has  appropri- 
ated.    The  history  of  the  government  and  the  history  of 
the  people  would  be  exhibited  in  that  mode  in  which 
alone  they  can  be  exhibited  justly,  in  inseparable  conjunc- 
tion and  intermixture.     We  should  not  then  have  to  look 
for  the  wars  and  votes  of  the  Puritans  in  Clarendon,  an-l 
for  their  phraseology  in  "  Old  Mortality  " ;  for  one  half 
of  King  James  in  Hume,  and  for  the  other  half  in  the 
"  Fortunes  of  Nigel." 

9  The  early  part  of  our  imaginary  history  would  be  rich 
with  coloring  from  romance,  ballad,  and  chronicle.     We 
should  find  ourselves  in  the  company  of  knights  such  as 
those  of  Froissart,  and  of  pilgrims  such  as  those  who  rode 
with  Chaucer  from  the  Tabard.     Society  would  be  shown 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest — from  the  royal  cloth  of 
state  to  the  den  of  the  outlaw ;  from  the  throne  of  the 
legate  to  the  chimney-corner  where  the  begging  friar  re- 
galed himself.     Palmers,  minstrels,  crusaders ;  the  stately 
monastery,  with  the  good  cheer  in  its  refectory,  and  the 
high-mnss  in  its  chapel ;  the  manor-house,  with  its  hunt- 
ing r.nd  hawking;  the  tournament,  with  the  heralds  and 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  4B 

ladies,  the  trumpets  and  the  cloth  of  gold  —  would  give 
truth  and  life  to  the  representation.  We  should  perceive, 
in  a  thousand  slight  touches,  the  importance  of  the  privi- 
leged burgher,  and  the  fierce  and  haughty  spirit  which 
swelled  under  the  collar  of  the  degraded  villain.  The  10 
revival  of  letters  would  not  merely  be  described  in  a  few 
magnificent  periods.  We  should  discern,  in  innumerable 
particulars,  the  fermentation  of  mind,  the  eager  appetite 
for  knowledge,  which  distinguished  the  sixteenth  from  the 
fifteenth  century.  In  the  Reformation  we  should  see  not 
merely  a  schism  which  changed  the  ecclesiastical  consti- 
tution of  England  and  the  mutual  relations  of  the  Euro- 
pean powers,  but  a  moral  war  which  raged  in  every  family, 
which  set  the  father  against  the  son,  and  the  son  against 
the  father,  the  mother  against  the  daughter,  and  the 
daughter  against  the  mother.  Henry  would  be  painted  11 
with  the  skill  of  Tacitus.  We  should  have  the  change 
of  his  character  from  his  profuse  and  joyous  youth  to  his 
savage  and  imperious  old  age.  We  should  perceive  the 
gradual  progress  of  selfish  and  tyrannical  passions  in  a 
mind  not  naturally  insensible  or  ungenerous  ;  and  to  the 
last  we  should  detect  some  remains  of  that  open  and  noble 
temper  which  endeared  him  to  a  people  whom  he  op- 
pressed, struggling  with  the  hardness  of  despotism  and 
the  irritability  of  disease.  We  should  see  Elizabeth,  in  12 
all  her  weakness  and  in  all  her  strength,  surrounded  by 
the  handsome  favorites  whom  she  never  trusted  and  the 
wise  old  statesmen  whom  she  never  dismissed,  uniting  in 
herself  the  most  contradictory  qualities  of  both  her  pa- 
rents —  the  coquetry,  the  caprice,  the  petty  malice  of  Anne, 
the  haughty  and  resolute  spirit  of  Henry.  We  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  a  great  artist  might  produce 
a  portrait  of  this  remarkable  woman,  at  least  as  striking  as 
that  in  the  novel  of  "  Kenilworth,"  without  employing  a 


XTNIVERSITY  } 


46  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

\  3  single  trait  not  authenticated  by  ample  testimony.  In  the 
mean  time  we  should  see  arts  cultivated,  wealth  accumu- 
lated, the  conveniences  of  life  improved.  We  should  see 
the  keeps,  where  nobles,  insecure  themselves,  spread  inse- 
curity around  them,  gradually  giving  place  to  the  halls  of 
peaceful  opulence,  to  the  oriels  of  Longleat,  and  the  stately 
pinnacles  of  Burleigh.  We  should  see  towns  extended, 
deserts  cultivated,  the  hamlets  of  fishermen  turned  into 
wealthy  havens,  the  meal  of  the  peasant  improved,  and 
his  hut  more  commodiously  furnished.  We  should  see 
those  opinions  and  feelings  which  produced  the  great 
struggle  against  the  house  of  Stuart  slowly  growing  up 
in  the  bosom  of  private  families  before  they  manifested 

14  themselves  in  Parliamentary  debates.     Then  would  come 
the  Civil  War.     Those  skirmishes  on  which  Clarendon 
dwells  so  minutely  would  be  told,  as  Thucydides  would 
have  told  them,  with  perspicuous  conciseness.     They  are 
merely  connecting  links.     But  the  great  characteristics  of 
the  age,  the  loyal  enthusiasm  of  the  brave  English  gentry, 
the  fierce  licentiousness  of  the  swearing,  dicing,  drunken 
reprobates,  whose  excesses  disgraced  the  royal  cause ;  the 
austerity  of  the  Presbyterian  Sabbaths  in  the  city,  the  ex- 
travagance of  the  independent  preachers  in  the  camp, 
the  precise  garb,  the  severe  countenance,  the  petty  scru- 
ples, the  affected  accent,  the  absurd  names  and  phrases 
which  marked  the  Puritans ;  the  valor,  the  policy,  the 
public  spirit,  which  lurked  beneath  these  ungraceful  dis- 
guises, the  dreams  of    the  raving   Fifth-monarchy-man, 
the  dreams,  scarcely  less  wild,  of  the  philosophic  republi- 
can— all  these  would  enter  into  the  representation,  and 
render  it  at  once  more  exact  and  more  striking. 

15  The  instruction,  derived  from  history  thus  written, 
would  be  of  a  vivid  and  practical  character.    It  would  be 
received  by  the  imagination  as  well  as  by  the  reason.     It 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  47 

would  be  not  merely  traced  on  the  mind,  but  branded 
into  it.  Many  truths,  too,  would  be  learned  which  can 
be  learned  in  no  other  manner.  As  the  history  of  states  16 
is  generally  written,  the  greatest  and  most  momentous 
revolutions  seem  to  come  upon  them  like  supernatural 
inflictions,  without  warning  or  cause.  But  the  fact  is, 
that  such  revolutions  are  almost  always  the  consequences 
of  moral  changes,  which  have  gradually  passed  on  the 
mass  of  the  community,  and  which  ordinarily  proceed  far 
before  their  progress  is  indicated  by  any  public  measure. 
An  intimate  knowledge  of  the  domestic  history  of  nations 
is  therefore  absolutely  necessary  to  the  prognosis  of  politi- 
cal events.  A  narrative  defective  in  this  respect  is  as 
useless  as  a  medical  treatise  which  should  pass  by  all  the 
symptoms  attendant  on  the  early  stage  of  a  disease,  and 
mention  only  what  occurs  when  the  patient  is  beyond 
the  reach  of  remedies. 

An  historian,  such  as  we  have  been  attempting  to  de- 17 
scribe,  would  indeed  be  an  intellectual  prodigy.  In  his 
mind  powers  scarcely  compatible  with  each  other  must  be 
tempered  into  an  exquisite  harmony.  We  shall  sooner 
see  another  Shakespeare  or  another  Homer.  The  highest 
excellence  to  which  any  single  faculty  can  be  brought 
would  be  less  surprising  than  such  a  happy  and  delicate 
combination  of-qualities.  Yet  the  contemplation  of  im- 
aginary models  is  not  an  unpleasant  or  useless  employ- 
ment of  the  mind.  It  can  not,  indeed,  produce  perfec- 
tion ;  but  it  produces  improvement,  and  nourishes  that 
generous  and  liberal  fastidiousness,  which  is  not  incon- 
sistent with  the  strongest  sensibility  to  merit,  and  which, 
while  it  exalts  our  conceptions  of  the  art,  does  not  render 
us  unjust  to  the  artist. 


48  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 


JOSEPH  ADDISON.— HIS  DEATH.— INFLUENCE  OF  HIS 
WRITINGS. 

MAOATJLAY'S  "  ESSAYS." 

This  sketch  is  taken  from  Macaulay's  "  Essay  on  the  Life  and 
Writings  of  Addison."  Joseph  Addison  (1672-1719)  attained  rep- 
utation as  a  master  of  pure  English  during  the  critical  or  Augnstan 
age  of  Queen  Anne.  This  era  is  remarkable  for  the  care  and  atten- 
tion which  were  bestowed  upon  the  cultivation  of  style.  Addison, 
Swift,  Bolingbroke,  Steele,  Pope,  De  Foe,  were  the  principal  writers. 
It  was  to  this  period  of  English  history  that  Macaulay  looked  for- 
ward with  eager  longing,  and,  had  he  lived  to  complete  the  picture 
of  which  we  have  but  the  intimation  in  his  essay  on  Addison,  it 
would  have  proved  to  be  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  his  superb 
delineations.  The  critical  student  of  English  literature  can  not  fail 
to  discern  the  influence  that  Addison  has  exercised  upon  the  genius 
of  our  own  Irving.  Let  the  student  endeavor  to  work  out  this  hint, 
and  ascertain  its  correctness  by  noting  certain  points  of  resemblance 
in  the  delineation  of  character.  For  information  respecting  Addi- 
son's  era,  the  student  should  consult  Stanhope's  "  Reign  of  Queen 
Anne,"  Lecky's  "  England  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,"  Morley's 
"English  Writers,"  Morley's  "First  Sketch  of  English  Literature." 

1  THE  last  moments  of  Addison  were  perfectly  serene. 
His  interview  with  his  son-in-law  is  universally  known. 
"  See,"  he  said,  "  how  a  Christian  can  die  !  "  The  piety 
of  Addison  was,  in  truth,  of  a  singularly  cheerful  charac- 
ter. The  feeling  which  predominates  in  all  his  devotional 
writings  is  gratitude.  God  was  to  him  the  all-wise  and 
all-powerful  friend  who  had  watched  over  his  cradle  with 
more  than  maternal  tenderness  ;  who  had  listened  to  his 
cries  before  they  could  form  themselves  in  prayer  ;  who 
had  preserved  his  youth  from  the  snares  of  vice ;  who 
had  made  his  cup  run  over  with  worldly  blessings ;  who 
had  doubled  the  value  of  those  blessings  by  bestowing  a 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  49 

thankful  heart  to  enjoy  them,  and  dear  friends  to  partake 
them  ;  who  had  rebuked  the  waves  of  the  Ligurian  gulf, 
had  purified  the  autumnal  air  of  the  Campagna,  and 
had  restrained  the  avalanches  of  Mont  Cenis.  Of  the  2 
Psalms,  his  favorite  was  that  which  represents  the  Ruler 
of  all  things  under  the  endearing  image  of  a  shepherd, 
whose  crook  guides  the  flock  safe,  through  gloomy  and 
desolate  glens,  to  meadows  well  watered  and  rich  with 
herbage.  On  that  goodness,  to  which  he  ascribed  all  the 
happiness  of  his  life,  he  relied  in  the  hour  of  death,  with 
the  love  which  casteth  out  fear.  He  died  on  the  17th 
of  June,  1719.  He  had  just  entered  on  his  forty-eighth 
year. 

His  body  lay  in  state  in  the  Jerusalem  Chamber,  and  3 
was  borne  thence  to  the  Abbey  at  dead  of  night.  The 
choir  sang  a  funeral  hymn.  Bishop  Atterbury,  one  of 
those  Tories  who  had  loved  and  honored  the  most  accom- 
plished of  the  Whigs,  met  the  corpse,  and  led  the  proces- 
sion by  torchlight  round  the  shrine  of  Saint  Edward 
and  the  graves  of  the  Plantagenets  to  the  chapel  of 
Henry  VII.  On  the  north  side  of  that  chapel,  in  the 
vault  of  the  House  of  Albemarle,  the  coffin  of  Addison 
lies  next  to  the  coffin  of  Montagu.  Yet  a  few  months — 
and  the  same  mourners  passed  again  along  the  same  aisle. 
The  same  sad  anthem  was  again  chanted.  The  same 
vault  was  again  opened,  and  the  coffin  of  Craggs  was 
placed  close  to  the  coffin  of  Addison. 

Many  tributes  were  paid  to  the  memory  of  Addison.  4 
But  one  alone  is  now  remembered.  Tickell  bewailed  his 
friend  in  an  elegy  which  would  do  honor  to  the  greatest 
name  in  our  literature,  and  which  unites  the  energy  and 
magnificence  of  Dryden  to  the  tenderness  and  purity  of 
Cowper.  This  fine  poem  was  prefixed  to  a  superb  edition 
of  Addison's  works,  which  was  published  in  1721  by  sub- 


60  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

scription.  The  names  of  the  subscribers  proved  how 
widely  his  fame  had  been  spread.  That  his  countrymen 
should  be  eager  to  possess  his  writings,  even  in  a  costly 

5  form,  is  not  wonderful.    But  it  is  wonderful  that,  though 
English  literature  was  then  little  studied  on  the  Con- 
tinent, Spanish  grandees,  Italian  prelates,  marshals  of 
France,  should  be  found  in  the  list.     Among  the  most 
remarkable  names  are  those  of  the  Queen  of  Sweden,  of 
Prince  Eugene,  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  of  the 
Dukes  of  Parma,  Modena,  and  Guastalla,  of  the  Doge  of 
Genoa,  of  the  Regent  Orleans,  and  of  Cardinal  Dubois. 
We  ought  to  add  that  this  edition,  though  eminently 
beautiful,  is  in  some  important  points  defective  ;  nor,  in- 
deed, do  we  yet  possess  a  complete  collection  of  Addi- 
son's  writings. 

6  It  is  strange  that  neither  his  opulent  and  noble  widow, 
nor  any  of  his  powerful  and  attached  friends,  should  have 
thought  of  placing  even  a  simple  tablet  inscribed  with 
his  name  on  the  walls  of  the  Abbey.    It  was  not  till  three 
generations  had  laughed  and  wept  over  his  pages  that  the 
omission  was  supplied  by  the  public  veneration.     At 
length,  in  our  own  time,  his  image,  skillfully  graven, 
appeared  in  Poet's  Corner.      It   represents  him,  as  we 
can  conceive  him,  clad  in  his  dressing-gown  and  freed 
from  his  wig,  stepping  from  his  parlor  at  Chelsea  into 
his  trim  little  garden,  with  the  account  of  the  "  Everlast- 
ing Club  "  qr  the  "  Loves  of  Hilpa  and  Shalum,"  just 
finished  for  the  next  day's  "  Spectator,"  in  his  hand. 

7  Such  a  mark  of  national  respect  was  due  to  the  unsullied 
statesman,  to  the  accomplished  scholar,  to  the  master  of 
pure  English  eloquence,  to  the  consummate  painter  of 
life  and  manners.     It  was  due,  above  all,  to  the  great 
satirist,  who  alone   knew  how  to  use   ridicule  without 
abusing  it,  who,  without  inflicting  a  wound,  effected  a 


READINGS,  si 

great  social  reform,  and  who  reconciled  wit  and  virtue 
after  a  long  and  disastrous  separation,  during  which  wit 
had  been  led  astray  by  profligacy  and  virtue  by  fanaticism. 


THE   ENGLISH   COUNTRY   GENTLEMAN    OF    1688. 
MACAULAY'S  "  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

The  English  country  gentleman  of  1688  is  an  illustration  of 
Macaulay's  method  of  "holding  the  mirror  up  to  nature,"  and 
showing  the  very  form  and  feature  of  an  era. 

A  COUNTRY  gentleman  who  witnessed  the  revolution  1 
was  probably  in  the  receipt  of  about  the  fourth  part  of 
the  rent  which  his  acres  now  yield  to  his  posterity  ;  he 
was  therefore,  as  compared  with  his  posterity,  a  poor 
man,  and  was  generally  under  the  necessity  of  residing, 
with  little  interruption,  on  his  estate.  To  travel  on  the 
Continent,  to  maintain  an  establishment  in  London,  or 
even  to  visit  London  frequently,  were  pleasures  in  which 
only  the  great  proprietors  could  indulge.  It  may  be  con- 
fidently affirmed  that,  of  the  squires  whose  names  were  in 
King  Charles's  commission  of  peace  and  lieutenancy,  not 
one  in  twenty  went  to  tovrn  once  in  five  years,  or  had 
ever  in  his  life  wandered  so  far  as  Paris.  Many  lords  of 
manors  had  received  an  education  differing  little  from 
that  of  their  menial  servants.  The  heir  of  an  estate  2 
often  passed  his  boyhood  and  youth  at  the  seat  of  his 
family,  with  no  better  tutors  than  grooms  and  gamekeep- 
ers, and  scarce  attained  learning  enough  to  sign  his  name 
to  a  mittimus.  If  he  went  to  school  and  to  college,  he 
generally  returned  before  he  was  twenty  to  the  seclusion 
of  the  old  hall,  and  there,  unless  his  mind  were  very  hap- 
5 


82  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

pily  constituted  by  nature,  soon  forgot  his  academical 

3  pursuits  in  rural  business  and  pleasures.     His  chief  seri- 
ous employment  was  the  care  of  his  property.     He  exam- 
ined samples  of  grain,  handled  pigs,  and  on  market  days 
made  bargains  over  a  tankard  with  drovers  and   hop- 
merchants.     His  chief  pleasures  were  commonly  derived 
from  field- sports  and  from  an  unrefined  sensuality.     His 
language  and  pronunciation  were  such  as  we  should  now 
expect  to  hear  only  from  the  most  ignorant  clowns.     His 
oaths,  coarse  jests,  and  scurrilous  terms  of  abuse  were  ut- 
tered with  the  broadest  accent  of  his  province.     It  was 
easy  to  discern  from   the  first  words  which  he  spoke 
whether  he  came  from  Somersetshire  or  Yorkshire.     He 
troubled  himself  little  about  decorating  his  abode,  and,  if 
he  attempted  decoration,  seldom  produced  anything  but 
deformity.     The  litter  of  a  farm-yard  gathered  under  the 
windows  of  his  bed-chamber,  and  the  cabbages  and  goose- 

4  berry-bushes  grew  close  to  his  hall-door.     His  table  was 
loaded  with  coarse  plenty,  and  guests  were  cordially  wel- 
come to  it ;  but,  as  the  habit  of  drinking  to  excess  was 
general  in  the  class  to  which  he  belonged,  and  as  his  for- 
tune did  not  enable  him  to  intoxicate  large  assemblies 
daily  with  claret  or  canary,  strong  beer  was  the  ordinary 
beverage.     The  quantity  of  beer  consumed  in  those  days 
was  indeed  enormous ;  for  beer  was  then  to  the  middle 
and  lower  classes,  not  only  all  that  beer  now  is,  but  all 
that  wine,  tea,  and  ardent  spirits  now  are ;  it  was  only  at 
great  houses  or  on  great  occasions  that  foreign  drink  was 
placed  on  the  board.     The  ladies  of  the  house,  whose 
business  it  had  commonly  been  to  cook  the  repast,  retired 
as  soon  as  the  dishes  had  been  devoured,  and  left  the 
gentlemen  to  their  ale  and  tobacco.     The  coarse  jollity 
of  the  afternoon  was  often  prolonged  till  the  revelers 
were  laid  under  the  table. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  33 

It  was  very  seldom  that  the  country  gentleman  caught  5 
glimpses  of  the  great  world,  and  what  he  saw  of  it  tended 
rather  to  confuse  than  to  enlighten  his  understanding. 
His  opinions  respecting  religion,  government,  foreign 
countries,  and  former  times,  having  been  derived,  not 
from  study,  from  observation,  or  from  conversation  with 
enlightened  companions,  but  from  such  traditions  as  were 
current  in  his  own  small  circle,  were  the  opinions  of  a 
child ;  he  adhered  to  them,  however,  with  the  obstinacy 
which  is  generally  found  in  ignorant  men  accustomed  to 
be  fed  with  flattery.  His  animosities  were  numerous  6 
and  bitter.  He  hated  Frenchmen  and  Italians,  Scotch- 
men and  Irishmen,  Papists  and  Presbyterians,  Indepen- 
dents and  Baptists,  Quakers  and  Jews.  Toward  London 
and  Londoners  he  felt  an  aversion  which  more  than  once 
produced  important  political  effects.  His  wife  and  daugh- 
ter were  in  tastes  and  acquirements  below  a  housekeeper 
or  a  still-room  maid  of  the  present  day.  They  stitched 
and  spun,  brewed  gooseberry  wine,  cured  marigolds,  and 
made  the  crust  for  the  venison  pastry. 

From  this  description  it  might  be  supposed  that  the  7 
English  esquire  of  the  seventeenth  century  did  not  ma- 
terially differ  from  a  rustic  miller  or  ale-house  keeper  of 
our  time.  There  are,  however,  some  important  parts  of 
his  character  still  to  be  noted,  which  will  greatly  modify 
this  estimate.  Unlettered  as  he  was,  and  unpolished,  he 
was  still  in  some  important  points  a  gentleman.  He  was 
a  member  of  a  proud  and  powerful  aristocracy,  and  was 
distinguished  by  many  both  of  the  good  and  of  the  bad 
qualities  which  belong  to  aristocrats.  His  family  pride 
was  beyond  that  of  a  Talbot  or  a  Howard.  He  knew  the 
genealogies  and  coats-of-arms  of  all  his  neighbors,  and 
could  tell  which  of  them  had  assumed  supporters  without 
any  right,  and  which  of  them  were  so  unfortunate  as  to 


54  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

8  be  great-grandsons  of  aldermen.     He  was  a  magistrate, 
and  as  such  administered  gratuitously  to  those  who  dwelt 
around  him  a  rude  patriarchal  justice,  which,  in  spite  of 
innumerable  blunders  and  of  occasional  acts  of  tyranny, 
was  yet  better  than  no  justice  at  all.     He  was  an  officer 
of  the  train-bands,  and  his  military  dignity,  though  it 
might  move  the  mirth  of  gallants  who  had  served  a  cam- 
paign in  Flanders,  raised  his  character  in  his  own  eyes 
and  in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors.     Nor  indeed  was  his 
soldiership  justly  a  subject  of  derision.     In  every  county 
there  were  elderly  gentlemen  who  had  seen  service  which 
was  no  child's  play.     One  had  been  knighted  by  Charles 
I,  after  the  battle  of  Edgehill ;  another  still  wore  a  patch 
over  the  scar  which  he  had  received  at  Naseby ;  a  third 
had  defended  his  old  house  till  Fairfax  had  blown  in  the 

9  door  with  a  petard.     The  presence  of  these  old  Cavaliers, 
with  their  old  swords  and  holsters,  and  with  their  old 
stories  about  Goring  and  Lunsford,  gave  to  the  musters 
of  militia  an  earnest  and  warlike  aspect  which  would 
otherwise  have  been  wanting.     Even  those  country  gen- 
tlemen who  were  too  young  to  have  themselves  exchanged 
blows  with  the  cuirassiers  of  the  Parliament,  had  from 
childhood  been  surrounded  by  the  traces  of  recent  war. 
and   fed  with  stories  of  the   martial   exploits  of   tlu-ir 

10  fathers  and  uncles.     Thus  the  character  of  the  English 
esquire  of  the  seventeenth  century  was  compounded  of 
two  elements  which  we  are  not  accustomed  to  find  united. 
His  ignorance  and  uncouthness,  his  low  tastes  and  gross 
phrases,  would  in  our  time  be  considered  as  indicating  a 
nature  and  a  breeding  thoroughly  plebeian.     Yet  he  was 
essentially  a  patrician,  and  had  in  large  measure  both  the 
virtues  and  the  vices  which  flourish  among  men  set  from 
their  birth  in  high  places,  and  accustomed  to  authority,  to 

11  observance,  and  to  self-respect.     It  is  not  easy  for  a  gen- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  85 

eration  which  is  accustomed  to  find  chivalrous  sentiments 
only  in  company  with  liberal  studies  and  polished  man- 
ners to  image  to  itself  a  man  with  the  deportment,  the 
vocabulary,  and  the  accent  of  a  carter,  yet  punctilious  on 
matters  of  genealogy  and  precedence,  and  yet  ready  to 
risk  his  life  rather  than  see  a  stain  cast  on  the  honor  of 
his  house.  It  is  only,  however,  by  thus  joining  together 
things  seldom  or  never  found  together  in  our  own  experi- 
ence that  we  can  form  a  just  idea  of  that  rustic  aristoc- 
racy which  constituted  the  main  strength  of  the  armies 
of  Charles  I,  and  which  long  supported  with  strange  fidel- 
ity the  interest  of  his  descendants. 

The  gross,  uneducated,  untraveled  country  gentleman  12 
was  commonly  a  Tory ;  but,  though  devotedly  attached  to 
hereditary  monarchy,  he  had  no  partiality  for  courtiers 
and  ministers.  He  thought,  not  without  reason,  that 
Whitehall  was  filled  with  the  most  corrupt  of  mankind  ; 
that,  of  the  great  sums  which  the  House  of  Commons 
had  voted  to  the  crown  since  the  Restoration,  part  had 
been  embezzled  by  cunning  politicians,  and  part  squan- 
dered on  buffoons  and  foreign  courtesans.  His  stout 
English  heart  swelled  with  indignation  at  the  thought 
that  the  government  of  his  country  should  be  subject  to 
French  dictation.  Being  himself  generally  an  old  cava- 
lier, or  the  son  of  an  old  cavalier,  he  reflected  with  bitter 
resentment  on  the  ingratitude  with  which  the  Stuarts  had 
requited  their  best  friends.  Those  who  heard  him  grumble 
at  the  neglect  with  which  he  was  treated,  and  at  the  pro- 
fusion with  which  wealth  was  lavished  on  the  children  of 
Nell  Gwynn  and  Madam  Carwell,  would  have  supposed 
him  ripe  for  rebellion.  But  all  this  ill-humor  lasted  only  13 
till  the  throne  was  really  in  danger.  It  was  precisely  when 
those  whom  the  sovereign  had  loaded  with  wealth  and 
honors  shrank  from  his  side  that  the  country  gentlemen, 


36  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

so  surly  and  mutinous  in  the  season  of  his  prosperity,  ral- 
lied round  him  in  a  body.  Thus,  after  murmuring  twenty 
years  at  the  misgovernment  of  Charles  II,  they  came  to 
his  rescue  in  his  extremity,  when  his  own  secretaries  of 
state  and  lords  of  the  treasury  had  deserted  him,  and  en- 
abled him  to  gain  a  complete  victory  over  the  opposi- 
tion ;  nor  can  there  be  any  doubt  that  they  would  have 
shown  equal  loyalty  to  his  brother  James,  if  James  would 
even  at  the  moment  have  refrained  from  outraging  their 

14  strongest  feeling.     For  there   was   one   institution,  and 
one  only,  which  they  prized  even  more  than  hereditary 
monarchy  ;  and  that  institution  was  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land.    Their   love  of  the  Church  was  not,   indeed,  the 
effect  of  study  or  meditation.     Few  among  them  could 
have  given  any  reason,  drawn  from  Scripture  or  ecclesi- 
astical history,  for  adhering  to  her  doctrines,  her  ritual, 
and  her  polity ;  nor  were  they,  as  a  class,  by  any  means 
strict  observers  of  that  code  of  morality  which  is  common 
to  all  Christian  sects.     But  the  experience  of  many  ages 
proves  that  men  may  be  ready  to  fight  to  the  death,  and 
to  persecute  without  pity,  for  a  religion  whose  creed  they 
do  not  understand,  and  whose  precepts  they  habitually 
disobey.  .  .  . 

15  When  the  lord  of  a  Lincolnshire  or  Shropshire  manor 
appeared  in  Fleet  Street,  he  was  as  easily  distinguished 
from  the  resident  population  as  a  Turk  or  a  Lascar.     His 
dress,  his  gait,  his  accent,  the  manner  in  which  he  stared 
at  the  shops,  stumbled  into  the  gutters,  ran  against  the 
porters,  and  stood  under  the  water-spouts,  marked  him 
out  as  an  excellent  subject  for  the  operations  of  swindlers 
and   banterers.      Bullies   jostled   him    into   the  kennel. 
Hackney-coachmen   splashed    him   from    head    to   foot. 
Thieves  explored  with  perfect  security  the  huge  pockets 
of  his  horseman's  coat,  while  he  stood  entranced  by  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  67 

splendor  of  the  lord-mayor's  show.  Money-droppers,  sore 
from  the  cart's  tail,  introduced  themselves  to  him,  and 
appeared  to  him  the  most  friendly  gentlemen  that  he  had 
ever  seen.  Painted  women,  the  refuse  of  Lewkner  Lane 
and  Whatstone  Park,  passed  themselves  on  him  for 
countesses  and  maids  of  honor.  If  he  asked  his  way  to  1 6 
St.  James's,  his  informant  sent  him  to  Mile  End.  If 
he  went  into  a  shop,  he  was  instantly  discerned  to  be  a 
purchaser  of  everything  that  nobody  else  would  buy — 
of  second-hand  embroidery,  copper  rings,  and  watches 
that  would  not  go.  If  he  rambled  into  any  fashionable 
coffee-house,  he  became  a  mark  for  the  insolent  derision 
of  fops  and  the  grave  waggery  of  Templars.  Enraged 
and  mortified,  he  soon  returned  to  his  mansion;  and 
there,  in  the  homage  of  his  tenants,  and  the  conversation 
of  his  boon  companions,  found  consolation  for  the  vexa- 
tions and  humiliations  he  had  undergone.  There  he 
once  more  found  himself  a  great  man  ;  and  he  saw  noth- 
ing above  him,  except  when  at  the  assizes  he  took  his 
seat  on  the  bench  near  the  judge,  or  when  at  the  muster 
of  the  militia  he  saluted  the  lord-lieutenant. 


EXORDIUM   TO    HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 
MAOAULAY'S  "HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

This  exordium  is  a  fine  illustration  of  Macaulay's  brilliant  rhet- 
oric. In  his  "  History  of  England  "  his  style  attains  its  climax,  and 
some  of  his  sketches  of  men  and  of  epochs,  though,  perhaps,  marked 
by  a  tendency  to  exaggeration,  are  unsurpassed  in  all  historical  lit- 
erature as  examples  of  graphic  delineation.  His  superb  rhythm 
and  his  powers  of  description  captivate  the  imagination,  as  well  as 


38  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

the  taste  of  his  readers;  and,  if  his  estimates  are  not  always  marked 
by  that  strict  sobriety  of  judgment  which  distinguishes  Von  Ranke, 
he  is  invaluable  to  young  students  by  reason  of  the  stimulus  he  im- 
parts to  historical  reading,  an  obligation  which  many  now  in  the 
vigor  of  manhood  will  most  gratefully  acknowledge. 

1  I  PURPOSE  to  write  the  history  of  England  from  the 
accession  of  King  James  II  down  to  a  time  which  is 
within  the  memory  of  men  still  living.  I  shall  recount  the 
errors  which,  in  a  few  months,  alienated  a  loyal  gentry 
and  priesthood  from  the  house  of  Stuart.  I  shall  trace 
the  course  of  that  revolution  which  terminated  the  long 
struggle  between  our  sovereigns  and  their  parliaments, 
and  bound  up  together  the  rights  of  the  people  and  the 
title  of  the  reigning  dynasty.  I  shall  relate  how  \he  new 
settlement  was,  during  many  troubled  years,  successfully 
defended  against  foreign  and  domestic  enemies ;  how, 
under  that  settlement,  the  authority  of  law  and  the  se- 
curity of  property  were  found  to  be  compatible  wi'.h  a 
liberty  of  discussion  and  of  individual  action  never  be- 
fore known ;  how,  from  the  auspicious  union  of  order 
and  freedom,  sprang  a  prosperity  of  which  the  annals  of 
human  affairs  had  furnished  no  example ;  how  our  coun- 
try, from  a  state  of  ignominious  vassalage,  rapidly  rose  to 
the  place  of  umpire  among  European  powers;  how  her 
opulence  and  her  martial  glory  grew  together ;  how,  by 
wise  and  resolute  good  faith,  was  gradually  established  a 
public  credit  fruitful  of  marvels,  which  to  the  statesmen 
of  any  former  age  would  have  seemed  incredible ;  how  a 
gigantic  commerce  gave  birth  to  a  maritime  power  com- 
pared with  which  every  other  maritime  power,  ancient  or 
modern,  sinks  into  insignificance;  how  Scotland,  after 
ages  of  enmity,  was  at  length  united  to  England,  not 
merely  by  legal  bonds,  but  by  indissoluble  ties  of  interest 
and  affection ;  how  in  America  the  British  colonies  rap- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  59 

idly  became  far  mightier  and  wealthier  than  the  realms 
which  Cortes  and  Pizarro  had  added  to  the  dominions  of 
Charles  Y ;  how  in  Asia  British  adventurers  founded  an 
empire  not  less  splendid  and  more  durable  than  that  of 
Alexander. 

Nor  will  it  be  less  my  duty  faithfully  to  record  disas-  2 
ters  mingled  with  triumphs,  with  great  national  crimes 
and  follies  far  more  humiliating  than  any  disaster.  It 
will  be  seen  that  what  we  justly  account  our  chief  bless- 
ings were  not  without  alloy.  It  will  be  seen  that  the 
system  which  effectually  secured  our  liberties  against  the 
encroachments  of  kingly  power  gave  birth  to  a  new  class 
of  abuses  from  which  absolute  monarchies  are  exempt. 
It  will  be  seen  that,  in  consequence  partly  of  unwise  in- 
terference and  partly  of  unwise  neglect,  the  increase  of 
wealth  and  the  extension  of  trade  produced,  together  with 
immense  good,  some  evils  from  which  poor  and  rude  so- 
cieties are  free.  It  will  be  seen  how,  in  two  important 
dependencies  of  the  crown,  wrong  was  followed  by  just 
retribution  ;  how  imprudence  and  obstinacy  broke  the  ties 
which  bound  the  North  American  colonies  to  the  parent 
state ;  how  Ireland,  cursed  by  the  domination  of  race  over 
race,  and  of  religion  over  religion,  remained  indeed  a 
member  of  the  empire,  but  a  withered  and  distorted  mem- 
ber, adding  no  strength  to  the  body  politic,  and  reproach- 
fully pointed  at  by  all  who  feared  or  envied  the  greatness 
of  England. 

Yet,  unless  I  greatly  deceive  myself,  the  general  effect  3 
of  this  checkered  narrative  will  be  to  excite  thankfulness 
in  all  religious  minds,  and  hope  in  the  breasts  of  all  pa- 
triots. For  the  history  of  our  country  during  the  last 
hundred  and  sixty  years  is  eminently  the  history  of  phys- 
ical, of  moral,  and  of  intellectual  improvement.  Those 
who  compare  the  age  on  which  their  lot  has  fallen  with  a 


60  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

golden  age  which  exists  only  in  their  imagination,  may 
talk  of  degeneracy  and  decay ;  but  no  man  who  is  cor- 
rectly informed  as  to  the  past  will  be  disposed  to  take  a 
morose  or  desponding  view  of  the  present. 
4  I  should  very  imperfectly  execute  the  task  which  I 
have  undertaken  if  I  were  merely  to  treat  of  battles  and 
sieges,  of  the  rise  and  fall  of  administrations,  of  intrigues 
in  the  palace,  and  of  debates  in  the  Parliament.  It  will 
be  my  endeavor  to  relate  the  history  of  the  people  as  well 
as  the  history  of  the  Government ;  to  trace  the  progress 
of  useful  and  ornamental  arts ;  to  describe  the  rise  of  re- 
ligious sects  and  the  changes  of  literary  taste ;  to  portray 
the  manners  of  successive  generations,  and  not  to  pass  by 
with  neglect  even  the  revolutions  which  have  taken  place 
in  dress,  furniture,  repasts,  and  public  entertainments.  I 
shall  cheerfully  bear  the  reproach  of  having  descended 
below  the  dignity  of  history  if  I  can  succeed  in  placing 
before  the  English  of  the  nineteenth  century  a  true  pic- 
ture of  the  life  of  their  ancestors. 


NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE.— HIS   RISE   TO    FAME. 
BAYNE'S  "  ESSAYS." 

Napoleon's  sadden  and  dazzling  rise  to  fame  was  one  of  the  re- 
sults of  the  French  revolution,  perhaps  the  most  important  event 
that  has  marked  the  history  of  the  last  hundred  years.  Revolutions 
like  this  always  bring  men  of  Napoleon's  character  into  the  front 
rank ;  they  are,  indeed,  the  nursery  of  such  spirits.  Napoleon  I 
was  a  native  of  Corsica,  and  was  born  in  1769.  After  a  career  of 
amazing  brilliancy,  in  which  he  vanquished  the  armies  of  nearly 
every  nation  of  continental  Europe,  he  was  finally  defeated  at  Wa- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  61 

terloo  in  1815,  and  died  in  exile  at  St.  Helena,  1821.  It  is  difficult 
to  recommend  historians  of  Napoleon's  life  with  confidence.  Thiers, 
Alison,  and  Lanfrey  should  be  consulted,  and  a  judgment  formed  by 
the  careful  comparison  of  authorities.  What  kin  was  the  late  Louis 
Napoleon  to  Napoleon  I,  and  what  relation  was  he  to  Josephine, 
Napoleon's  divorced  wife  ? 

THE  figure  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  first  emerges  into  1 
the  view  of  history  at  the  siege  of  Toulon,  toward  the 
end  of  the  year  1T93. 

The  revolutionary  storm  in  which  the  evening  of  the  2 
last  century  went  down  over  France  was  at  its  wildest 
working.  Those  fierce,  irregular  forces,  which,  in  the 
world  of  mind,  are  scientifically  correspondent  to  the  tor- 
nado, the  earthquake,  the  fever,  the  volcano  in  the  world 
of  external  nature,  and  which  seem  retained  for  seasons 
of  crisis  and  emergency,  were  performing  their  terrible 
ministry.  The  statical  balance  of  society  had  been  dis- 
turbed ;  the  normal  foices — the  forces  of  calmness,  of 
growth,  of  persistence — required  to  be  readjusted.  The 
untamed,  primeval  powers  which  always  underlie  the 
surface  of  civilization,  like  old  Titans  under  quiet  hills 
and  wooded  plains,  had  broken  their  confinement ;  the 
solid  framework  of  capacity  and  authority  by  which  they 
had  been  compressed  had  crumbled  down  in  mere  im- 
potence and  imbecility,  and  they  now  went  raving  and 
uncommanded  over  France.  Fear,  fury,  hot  enthusiasm, 
fanaticism,  ferocity,  the  courage  of  the  wildcat,  the  cru- 
elty of  the  tiger,  hope  to  the  measure  of  frenzy,  suspicion 
to  the  measure  of  disease,  spread  confusion  through  all 
the  borders  of  the  country.  At  Toulon  the  general  con-  3 
fusion  was  forcibly  represented,  though  but  in  miniature. 
The  town,  defended  by  a  motley  crew  of  British,  Span- 
iards, Neapolitans,  and  insurgent  French,  was  besieged 
on  behalf  of  the  convention  by  two  armies.  These  wel- 


62  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

tered  wildly  round  it,  strong  in  numbers,  in  valor,  in  zeal, 
in  stubbornness,  but  rendered  powerless  through  want  of 
control  and  direction.  Here,  as  universally  over  France, 
the  gravitation  by  which  faculty  comes  into  the  place  of 
command  had  not  had  time  to  act.  Cartaux,  the  general, 
strutted  about  in  gold  lace,  self -satisfied  in  his  ignorance 
of  the  position  of  affairs,  bold  in  his  unconsciousness  of 
danger.  Representatives  of  the  people,  empowered  to 
intermeddle  on  all  occasions,  swaggered  here  and  there 
in  the  camp,  storming,  babbling,  urging  everything  to 
feverish  haste,  making  progress  anywhere  impossible. 
Noise,  distraction,  fussy  impotence — such  was  the  specta- 
cle presented  on  all  hands. 

4  Then  appeared,  to  take  the  command  of  the  artillery, 
the  young  Corsican  officer,  Napoleon  Bonaparte.    Though 
very  young,  just  completing  his  twenty-fourth  year,  he 
had  a  look  of  singular  composure,  taciturnity,  and  resolu- 
tion.    Short  and  slim,  but  well-knit  and  active,  his  figure 
and  port  were  expressive  at  once  of  alertness  and  self- 
possession — his  eye  very  quiet  and  very  clear.     It  would 
hardly  have  struck  a  casual  observer  that  here  was  the 
commanding  and  irresistible  mind  which  was  to  intro- 
duce order,  the  highest,  perhaps,  of  which  they  were 
capable,  among  the  tumultuous   forces   of  the   French 
Revolution. 

5  Looking  steadily  and  silently  into  the  matter,  the 
secret  of  success  at  once  revealed  itself  to  Napoleon.   The 
troops  and  artillery  had  been  scattered  and  dissipated. 
Yonder  was  the  keystone  of  the  arch  ;  it  was  an  endless 
business  to  batter  upon  each  stone  in  the  structure  ;  con- 
centrate the  fire  upon  that  one  point,  bring  down  that 
one  stone,  and  the  whole  must  fall.     The  town  and  har- 
bor of  Toulon  lay  here  to  the  north  ;  the  channel  by  which 
both   communicated  with  the   Mediterranean  stretched 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  63 

yonder  toward  the  south ;  and  that  promontory  at  some 
distance  from  the  town,  its  strong  fortifications  giving  it 
the  name  of  Little  Gibraltar  and  indicating  the  impor- 
tance attached  to  it,  commanded  this  channel.  If,  there- 
fore, Little  Gibraltar  was  won,  you  could  sweep  the  gate- 
way of  the  harbor  in  such  a  manner  that  the  British  fleet 
would  be  shy  of  remaining ;  and  the  British  fleet  once 
withdrawn,  Toulon  could  offer  no  resistance.  Thus  clear  6 
and  definite  was  Napoleon's  thought,  and  it  was  to  be 
proved  whether  he  could  as  skillfully  convert  it  into  action. 
In  action  he  seemed  thought  personified,  thought  made 
alive  and  armed  with  the  sword  of  the  lightning.  The 
wild  valor  of  enthusiasm  had  been  nothing  to  this  directed 
courage  ;  the  dogged  obstinacy  of  fanatic  rage  had  been 
weak  in  comparison  with  this  calm  resolution  ;  the  haste 
and  fierceness  of  Celtic  ardor  had  been  tardy  to  this  im- 
perturbable swiftness.  Day  and  night,  sleeping  only  for 
a  few  hours  in  his  cloak  by  the  guns,  he  toils  at  his  bat- 
teries, collecting  cannon,  devising  feints,  turning  the  very 
blunders  of  incompetence  into  occasions  of  advantage ; 
no  stupidity,  no  envy,  no  obstacle  can  ruffle  his  compos- 
ure, or  cause  a  nerve  to  flutter  in  that  slight  but  steelly 
frame.  At  last  all  is  prepared.  Suddenly  there  bursts 
upon  Little  Gibraltar  an  overwhelming  fire.  Eight  thou- 
sand bombs  are  poured  on  it  over  night ;  in  the  morning 
the  troops  surge  in,  victorious,  through  the  shattered  walls, 
and  Little  Gibraltar  is  taken.  Toulon  then  falls,  and 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  is  a  marked  man. 


64  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 


NAPOLEON    BONAPARTE.— HIS  ITALIAN   CAMPAIGN.— 
HIS   MILITARY   GENIUS. 

BAYNE'S  "ESSAYS." 

Napoleon's  Italian  campaign  partakes  almost  of  the  marvelous 
in  its  splendid  success.  "Romance,  indeed,  assumed  the  air  of  re- 
ality." Old  and  tried  commanders  were  routed  by  this  boy  general, 
who  disregarded  all  the  conventional  laws  of  war.  Rarely  has  mili- 
tary renown  been  so  suddenly  and  so  thoroughly  achieved.  An  ex- 
cellent account  of  the  Italian  campaign  will  be  found  in  Lanfrey's 
"Life  of  Napoleon."  • 

1  OF  all  the  periods  in  the  life  of  Napoleon,  the  mind 
is  apt  to  rest  with  most  enthusiasm  upon  that  of  his  early 
campaign  in  Italy.     His  fame  may  be  said  to  have  been 
as  yet  unsullied ;  even  that  apparent  defection  from  the 
principles  of  liberty,  which  a  severe  investigation  of  his 
conduct  reveals,  admits  not  unreasonably  of  being  traced 
to  a  soldierly  love  of  order.     And  he  had  won  his  exalted 
position  through  so  honest  and  unmistakable  a  display  of 
intellectual  power !     Unfriended  among  the  myriads  of 
revolutionary  France,  and  at  first  scowled  upon  by  envi- 
ous incompetence,  he  had  approved  himself  a  man  of  in- 
dubitable and  overpowering  capacity,  who  could  think, 
who  could  act,  whom  it  would  clearly  be  advantageous  to 

2  obey.     One  can  not  but  experience  a  thrill  of  emotion  as 
the  imagination  pictures  him  in  his  first  appearance  among 
the  soldiers  of  Italy.     Of  all  warrior-faces  Napoleon's  is 
the  finest.     Not  only  has  it  that  clearness  of  line,  that 
strength  and  firmness  of  chiseling,  which  gives  a  noble- 
ness to  the  faces  of  all  great  soldiers ;  there  is  in  it,  in 
the  eye  especially,  a  depth  of  thought  and  reflection  which 
belongs  peculiarly  to  itself,  and  suggests  not  merely  the 
soldier  but  the  sovereign.     And  perhaps  the  face  of  Na- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  65 

poleon  never  looked  so  nobly  as  when  first  an  army  wor- 
thy of  his  powers  waited  his  commands,  the  calm  assurance 
of  absolute  self-reliance  giving  a  statue-like  stillness  to  his 
brows  and  temples,  on  which  still  shone  the  brightness  of 
youth,  the  light  of  a  fame  now  to  be  all  his  own  kindling 
that  intense  and  steadfast  eye,  and  his  gaze  turned  toward 
the  fields  of  Italy.  Can  not  one  fancy  his  glance  going  3 
along  the  ranks,  lighting  a  gleam  in  every  eye,  as  he  pre- 
sented himself  to  his  troops  ?  "  Soldiers  " — thus  ran  his 
proclamation — "  you  are  almost  naked,  half  starved.  The 
Government  owes  you  much  and  can  give  you  nothing. 
Your  patience,  your  courage,  in  the  midst  of  these  rocks, 
have  been  admirable,  but  they  reflect  no  splendor  on  your 
arms.  I  am  about  to  conduct  you  into  the  most  fertile 
plains  of  the  earth.  Rich  provinces,  opulent  cities,  will 
soon  be  in  your  power ;  there  you  will  find  abundant  har- 
vests, honor,  and  glory.  Soldiers  of  Italy,  will  you  fail  in 
courage?"  In  a  moment  he  had  established  between 
himself  and  his  soldiers  that  understanding  by  which, 
more  than  by  cannon  or  bayonet,  victories  are  won.  Pri- 
vates and  commanders  at  once  felt  that  this  was  the  man 
to  follow. 

Then  commenced  that  marvelous  series  of  campaigns  4 
which  makes  the  year  1Y96  an  era  in  the  history  of  war- 
fare, in  the  development  of  civilization ;  in  which  the 
fiery  energies,  unchained  by  the  French  Revolution,  were 
first  directed  by  supreme  military  genius  against  the  stand- 
ing institutions  of  Europe  to  their  overthrow  and  subver- 
sion ;  in  which  the  eye  of  the  world  was  first  fixed  in 
wondering  gaze  on  the  fully  unveiled  face  of  Napoleon. 
Not  merely  to  the  soldier  are  these  campaigns  interesting  5 
and  profitable.  It  is  for  all  men  instructive  to  mark  the 
achievements  of  pure  capacity,  to  watch  the  wondrous 
spirit-element  controlling  and  effecting,  dazzling  difficulty 


66  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

from  its  steady  march,  causing  lions  to  cower  aside  in  its 
sovereign  presence.  We  are  so  constituted,  besides,  that  we 
can  not  behold  energy,  perseverance,  courage,  resolution, 

6  without  a  thrill  of  emulous  sympathy.     As  we  note  the 
progress  of  that  intrepid,  indomitable  Corsican,  from  vic- 
tory to  victory,  we  kindle  with  those  emotions  which  ani- 
mated the  troops  of  Napoleon  ;  which  sent  the  grenadiers 
through  the  grapeshot  sweeping  like  snow-drift  along  the 
bridge  of  Lodi ;  which  renewed  and  renewed  the  bloody 
struggle  on  the  dykes  of  Arcola ;  which  made  the  French 
columns  scorn  rest  and  delay,  forget  the  limit  placed  to 
human  endurance,  rise  over  the  faintness  of  fatigue  and 
crush  down  the  gnawing  of  hunger,  march  through  moun- 
tain paths  all  night  and  spring  exultant  on  the  foe  at  break 
of  dawn,  if  only  the  way  was  led  by  him. 

7  A  review  of  these  campaigns,  even  of  the  most  cursory 
description,  is  here  impossible,  and  would  be  superfluous 
All  men  may  be  supposed  to  have  a  somewhat  familial- 
acquaintance  with  one  of  the  most  brilliant  passages  of 
modern  history,  and  to  be  capable  of  taking  the  same 
point  of  view  which  must  be  occupied  in  order  to  cast  the 
eye  along  their  course,  as  illustrating  the  character  of  Na- 
poleon. 

8  The  Italian  campaigns  seem  specially  adapted  to  de- 
monstrate a  military  capacity  at  once  indubitable,  many- 
sided,  and  supreme.     They  exhibit  not  only  the  fiery 
spring  that  has  so  often  caught  the  smile  of  fortune,  but 
the  cool  calculation  and  patient  resolution  which  seem  to 
compel  it.     They  show  the  victor  crowned,  not  once,  or 
twice,  or  thrice,  not  under  this  favorable  circumstance  of 
to-day  or  through  that  happy  thought  of  to-morrow,  but 
so  often  that-  the  possibility  of  fortuitous  success  is  elimi- 
nated, and  under  circumstances  of  disadvantage  so  mani- 
fold and  so  varied  that  even  envy,  unless  aided  by  crotchet, 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  67 

stupidity,  or  fixed  idea,  must  own  that  this  is,  beyond  all 
question,  the  inscrutable  and  irresistible  power  of  mind. 
The  first  fierce  onslaught  by  which  Sardinia,  bleeding  and  9 
prostrate,  was  SDatched  from  the  Austrian  alliance,  by 
which  the  gates  of  Italy  were  thrown  open,  and  by  which 
Europe  was  startled,  as  at  three  successive  thunder-peals, 
by  the  victories  of  Montenotte,  Millesimo,  and  Mondovi, 
all  in  the  space  of  a  month,  might,  at  least  possibly,  have 
been  the  result  of  youthful  daring  and  the  valor  of  the 
Kepublican  army.  But  the  defeats  of  Colli,  the  Sardin- 
ian, were  succeeded  by  those  of  Beaulieu,  the  Austrian ; 
the  defeats  of  Beaulieu  were  succeeded  by  the  defeats  in 
two  campaigns  of  the  well-supported  and  resolute  Wurm- 
ser ;  the  defeats  of  Wurmser  were  succeeded  by  the  de- 
feats, in  two  campaigns  more,  of  Alvinzi,  also  furnished 
with  overpowering  numbers ;  and  when  Archduke  Charles 
advanced  to  reconquer  a  thoroughly  subjugated  Lombar- 
dy,  he  too  was  met  and  driven  back.  There  were  six  dis- 
tinct campaigns ;  and  when  Napoleon,  at  their  close,  dic- 
tated, in  1797,  the  treaty  of  Campo  Formio,  he  remained 
indisputably  the  first  warrior  in  Europe. 

A  great  deal  has  been  said  of  the  change  introduced  10 
by  Napoleon  in  these  campaigns  into  military  tactics. 
He  broke  through,  it  is  said,  all  the  rules  and  etiquette  of 
war,  poured  his  forces  always  on  single  points,  was  now 
in  his  enemy's  front,  now  in  his  rear,  and,  on  the  whole, 
introduced  a  new  system  of  warfare.  That  he  introduced 
a  change  in  the  mode  of  carrying  on  hostilities  among 
the  generals  of  Europe  does  not  admit  of  doubt.  The 
system  of  warfare  by  which  Napoleon  was  overthrown, 
put  in  operation  by  men  who  had  marched  under  his 
banner,  was  indeed  a  more  rapid  and  fearful  thing  than 
that  over  which  he  won  his  first  triumphs.  But  it  seems  11 
as  little  doubtful  that  the  change  was  nothing  more  than 


68  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

that  natural  one  which  is  inevitable  in  any  art  or  science 
where  consummate  genius  displays  itself.  His  general- 
ship was  essentially  that  of  all  the  greatest  generals.  To 
form  combinations  with  such  invention  and  accuracy,  and 
execute  them  with  such  celerity,  as  will  bring  an  over- 
powering force  to  bear  upon  a  single  point,  had  been  the 
objects  of  generals  from  Luxembourg  to  Dumouriez  ;  and 
had  been  effected  by  the  former  against  William  of 
Orange,  and  by  the  latter  against  Brunswick,  with  a  skill 
and  celerity  not  unworthy  of  Napoleon.  Wellington 
studied  war  among  the  Ghauts  of  Himalaya,  yet  the  ablest 
combinations  and  the  most  impetuous  attacks  of  the  best 
marshals  trained  in  the  school  of  Bonaparte  were  unable 

12  to  baffle  him.     In  our  own  time  we  have  seen  war  settle 
back  to  that  laggard  habit  into  which  it  had  fallen  in  the 
hands  of  the  Austrians  before   the  revolutionary  cam- 
paigns.    The  advent  of  military  genius  of  the  first  order 
might  have  introduced  precisely  such  a  change  of  tactics 
under  the  walls  of  Sebastopol  as  Napoleon  introduced  on 
the  plains  of  Lombardy.     He  did  not  provide  himself 
with  a  new  horse,  but  he  was  the  man  to  put  Bucephalus 
to  his  speed. 

13  The   quickness  and   clearness  with  which  in   these 
campaigns  he  apprehended  the  features  of  every  posi- 
tion and  the  necessities  of  every  situation  are  amazing. 
The  reports  of  spies,  the  vague  hints  of  rumor,  became 
clear  before  him.     As  if  by  second  sight,  he  saw  in  the 
far  distance  every  disposition  of  his  enemy.     With  the 
pieces  before  him  on  a  chess-board,  it  would  have  re- 
quired discrimination  and  decision  to  estimate  or  antici- 
pate every  move  of  his  adversary,  and  instantly  to  adapt 
his  own  force  to  thwart  it.     But  with  armies  overwhelm- 
ing in  number  approaching  over  wide  spaces  of  country, 
with  only  the  reports  of  spies  or  traitors  to  depend  upon 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  69 

for  intelligence,  with  a  thousand  openings  for  mishap  in 
the  very  transmission  of  orders,  with  the  certainty  that  a 
slip  might  be  ruin,  to  have  the  whole  spread  out  as  clear 
as  the  starry  spheres  before  his  telescopic  eye,  and  again 
and  again,  by  swift  perception  arid  decision,  to  launch  the 
bolt  just  where  it  was  needed — this  indeed  demanded  a 
master  mind.  And  he  effected  these  things  so  often  and  14 
so  variously !  First,  as  we  said,  D'Argenteau  was  over- 
powered in  Piedmont,  the  French  army  concentrating 
itself  into  a  wedge  and  breaking  through  the  center  of 
the  allies.  Then  came  the  brilliant  fighting  of  Lodi  and 
the  investment  of  Mantua.  Wurmser  and  Quasdonowich 
were  next  to  be  overthrown.  They  were  near  each  other 
at  the  bottom  of  the  Lago  di  Garda,  and,  could  they  have 
united,  resistance  might  have  been  vain.  But  swift  as 
lightning  Quasdonowich  was  shattered  and  flung  back  on 
this  hand,  and  the  whole  flood,  wheeling  round  like  a 
heady  current,  turned  to  sweep  Wurmser  away  on  that. 
Wurmser,  tough  and  valiant,  retreated  for  a  time,  and  then 
advanced  again  on  Mantua,  leaving  Davidowich  with  a 
strong  army  to  defend  Trient  and  the  passes  of  the  Tyrol. 
Suddenly,  while  Wurmser  was  looking  out  for  the  French  15 
along  his  front,  he  was  startled  by  the  intelligence  that, 
far  in  the  rear,  Davidowich  had  been  utterly  routed.  In 
a  moment  this  spirit-like  Napoleon  was  down,  irresistible, 
upon  himself.  The  eye  of  a  civilian  may  not  deserve 
much  confidence ;  but  this  overthrow  of  Davidowich 
first,  and  advance  thereupon  on  Wurmser  with  all  his 
Austrian  communications  broken,  and  not  improbably  in 
some  slight  bewilderment,  assuredly  looks  one  of  the 
finest  bits  of  work  to  be  met  with  in  the  annals  of  war. 
It  is  needless  to  multiply  instances.  Such  was  Napoleon's 
mode  of  carrying  on  hostilities. 


70  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE'S  RUSSIAN  CAMPAIGN. 
BAYNE'S  "ESSAYS." 

In  Napoleon's  Russian  campaign  "vaulting  ambition  overleaped 
itself."  The  horrors  of  this  campaign,  the  burning  of  Moscow,  the 
retreat  of  the  French  array,  can  never  be  adequately  described. 
Napoleon's  first  overthrow  followed  fast  in  the  track  of  the  Russian 
campaign.  Henry  Heine  has  left  a  most  life-like  picture,  drawn  in 
his  characteristic  style,  of  the  appearance  presented  by  the  French 
army  during  their  advance  into  Russia,  and  the  contrast  presented 
on  their  retreat. 

1  MUCH  has  been  said,  and  perhaps  somewhat  vaguely, 
on  the  subject  of  the  Russian  campaign,  and  the  particu- 
lar error  committed  by  Napoleon  in  engaging  in  it  or  car- 
rying it  on.     He  trusted  presumptuously  in  fate ;  he  en- 
tered into  conflict  with  the  elements ;  and  so  on.     Not  at 
all.     He  looked  as  cautiously  after  the  helping  of  fate 
now  as  he  had  done  at  Friedland  or  Eckmuhl.    "  I  was," 
he  said  to  O'Meara  in  St.  Helena,  "  a  few  days  too  late ; 
I  had  made  a  calculation  of  the  weather  for  fifty  years 
before,  and  the  extreme  cold  had  never  commenced  until 
about  the  20th  of  December,  twenty  days  later  than  it  be- 
gan this  time."     That  man  left  nothing  to  fate.     His 
intellect  was  still  clear.     This  early  setting  in  of  the  cold 
was  the  first  great  cause,  in  his  own  belief,  of  the  failure 
of  the   Russian  attempt ;   the  second  was  the  burning 
of  Moscow.     Human  prescience  could  have  anticipated 
neither. 

2  The  truth  is,  Napoleon  committed  one  great  error  in 
this  Russian  expedition,  and,  so  far  as  appears,  but  one. 
He  did  not  preserve  his  rear ;  he  did  not  secure  his  retreat. 
If  you  look  closely  into  his  former  campaigns,  you  find, 
with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  Marengo,  no  battle  which 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  71 

does  not  exhibit  the  most  cautious  circumspection  in 
securing  a  retreat.  He  fell  back  instantly,  though  seem- 
ingly on  the  way  to  victory,  if,  as  at  Aspern,  his  com- 
munications in  the  rear  were  broken.  He  always  made  it 
a  grand  object  to  cut  off  the  retreat  of  his  antagonist ; 
once  he  had  his  enemy  in  a  position  where  defeat  was 
ruin,  he  attacked  with  confidence  as  one  sure  of  an  out- 
witted prey.  In  St.  Helena  he  charged  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  with  defective  generalship  at  Waterloo,  be- 
cause, as  he  alleged,  the  allied  army  had  no  means  of 
retreat.  But  now  his  own  retreat  was  insecure ;  defeat 
was  destruction.  He  passed  across  Europe  toward  the  3 
north,  accompanied  not  by  the  blessings  and  good  wishes, 
but  by  the  suppressed  indignation  and  muttered  curses,  of 
its  peoples.  Fear  and  amazement  guarded  his  throne, 
not  love  and  seemly  reverence.  No  human  being  is  strong 
enough  to  despise  these.  Men  now  watched  him  with 
eyes  of  menace,  and  with  right  hands  on  the  hilt.  Dis- 
affection had  spread  deep  and  far.  His  imperiousness, 
his  insolent  haughtiness,  had  turned  against  him  even 
Bernadotte,  to  whom  he  had  given  his  baton  ;  even  Lucien, 
who  had  served  him  so  well ;  even  the  vassal  kings,  on 
whom  he  conferred  a  humiliating  grandeur.  France  was  4 
becoming  weary  and  sick  at  heart ;  even  glory  became 
cold  in  its  glittering,  when  there  seemed  to  be  no  end  to 
war,  and  when  it  might  almost  be  said  that  in  every  house 
there  was  one  dead.  He  took  with  him,  too,  his  grand 
army,  his  old  invincibles,  that  would  so  proudly  die  for 
him  ;  and  who  could  never  be  replaced.  To  all  or  almost 
all  this,  he  was  blinded.  The  greatest  and  most  impor- 
tant part  of  it  arose  from  moral  causes,  and  so  escaped 
him. 

The  story  of  the  Eussian  campaign  is  the  most  solemn  5 
and  tragic  in  the  annals  of  modern  warfare,  if  not  in  the 


72  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

whole  history  of  war.  No  poet  of  these  times,  so  far  as 
one  may  judge,  has  possessed  a  power  necessary  to  its 
poetic  delineation.  Perhaps  in  their  very  highest  mo- 
ments Coleridge,  Shelley,  or  Byron  might  have  caught 
certain  of  its  tints  of  gloom  and  grandeur ;  now  and  then 
a  tone  of  melody  from  Mrs.  Browning's  harp  may  reach 
the  epic  height  of  its  sublimity.  But  he  who  depicted 
the  woe  of  Othello  and  the  madness  of  Lear,  and  he  who 
described  the  march  of  the  rebel  angels  to  the  north 
along  the  plains  of  heaven,  might  have  joined  their  pow- 
ers to  bring  out,  in  right  poetic  representation,  the  whole 
aspects  of  the  Russian  campaign.  Perhaps  it  may  lie 
among  those  subjects  for  which  common  life  affords  no 

6  precedent,  and  common  language  no  words.      And,  in- 
deed, no  description  seems  necessary.      The  poetry  of 
Nature,  in  its  weird  colors  and  deep,  dark,  rhythmic  har- 
monies, is  already  there ;  we  have  but  to  open  our  eyes 
and  contemplate  it.     Those  brave  soldiers,  those  daunt- 
less, devoted  veterans,  those  children  of  victory,  swift  as 
eagles,  fearless  as  lions,  who  had  charged  on  the  dikes  of 
Arcola,  and  hailed  the  sun  of  Austerlitz,  who  were  the 
very  embodiment  of  wild  southern  valor,  following  Na- 
poleon, the  son  of  the  lightning,  beneath  the  dim  vault 
of  the  northern  winter,  there  to  lav  their  fire-hearts  under 
that  still,  pale  winding-sheet  of  snow,  the  northern  blast 
singing  over  them  its  song  of  stejrn  and  melancholy  tri- 
umph— what  could  be  more  sublime  poetry  than  that? 

7  It  is  simple  fact.     Then,  how  grandly  is  the  darkness 
broken  as  those  flames  touch  all  the  clouds  with  angry 
crimson,  and  a  great  people,  thrilling  with  an  heroic  emo- 
tion, lays  in  ashes  its  ancient  cities  rather  than  yield  them 
up  to  an  invader !    Worthy  flowers  to  be  cast  by  a  nation 
in  the  way  of  that  emperor !     "  It  was  the  spectacle," 
said  Napoleon  in  St.  Helena,  alluding  to  the  conflagra- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  73 

tion  of  Moscow,  "  It  was  the  spectacle  of  a  sea  and  bil- 
lows of  fire,  a  sky  and  clouds  of  flame ;  mountains  of  red 
rolling  flames,  like  immense  waves  of  the  sea,  alternately 
bursting  forth  and  elevating  themselves  to  skies  of  fire, 
and  then  sinking  into  the  ocean  of  flame  belo\v.  Oh,  it 
was  the  most  grand,  the  most  sublime,  and  the  most  ter- 
rific sight  the  world  ever  beheld  !  "  A  sublime  sight  in- 
deed ;  it  were  difficult  to  name  one  more  sublime,  unless 
it  were  the  sight  of  him  describing  it,  a  hopeless  captive 
in  that  lonely  isle. 


THE    DUKE  OF   WELLINGTON.— HIS   CHARACTER.— 
HIS   GENIUS. 

BAYNE'S    "ESSAYS.." 

If  we  except  the  Duke  of  Maryborough,  Wellington  was  the  great- 
est of  English  generals.  He  lacked  the  brilliancy  of  Marlborough 
and  of  his  great  rival,  Napoleon,  but  his  campaigns  were  marked  by 
a  rare  combination  of  energy  and  clear  judgment  and  by  an  invin- 
cible determination,  which  almost  invariably  resulted  in  success. 

His  great  feat  was  his  victory  over  Napoleon  at  Waterloo  (June 
18, 1815),  by  which  Napoleon  was  finally  overthrown,  and  the  whole 
tenor  of  European  history  changed.  Wellington's  personal  charac- 
ter, too,  was  above  reproach.  He  .has  been  censured  by  some  for 
failing  to  interpose  in  NeyV  behalf  after  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  but 
if  this  was  an  error  it  was  nbt  a  crime,  and  no  charge  of  avarice  or 
rapacity  has  ever  sullied  his'  pure  and  lofty  fame.  For  estimates  of 
the  great  commanders  referred  to  in  the  "  Reader,"  the  student 
should  consult  Chesney's  "  Military  Biography." 

MUCH  has  been  said  concerning  the  coldness  of  Wei- 1 
lington's  emotions,  and  his  alleged  want  of  kindliness. 
In  this  portion  of  his  character,  too,  we  find  the  traits  we 
have  specified.     He  possessed  a  kindliness  all  his  own. 


74  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

It  must  be  granted  that  lie  never  exhibited  that  strange 
fascination  of  genius  which  lias  been  so  powerful  in  many 
instances — in  a  Mirabeau,  a  Napoleon,  a  Hannibal.  Yet 
a  manly  kindliness  was  his  which  comported  well  with 
the  massive  strength  of  his  character.  He  loved,  if  we 
may  so  say,  in  the  mass ;  his  kindness  was  that  of  calm, 
considerate  reason,  and  borrowed  no  flash  from  passion. 
In  India  he  used  no  small  arts  to  secure  attachment ;  he 
was  encircled,  and  he  wished  to  be  so,  by  the  dignity  of  a 

2  high-born  British  gentleman.     Yet  his  rule  was  felt  to  be 
kindly  and  beneficent,  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  wide 
provinces  whose  affairs  he  administered  blessed  him  in 
their  hearts.    He  might  not,  with  sentimental  sigh,  lament 
over  the  individual  loss  or  destruction ;  but  the  general 
prosperity,  the  happiness  of  the  people  as  a  whole,  lay 
near  his  heart ;  he  did  not  care  to  dispense  those  small 
personal  favors  whence  are  born  kind  words  and  smiles, 
but  he  spread  his  blessings  as  from  a  great  cornucopia 

3  over  the  land.     It  was  so,  also,  in  his  military  career. 
If  we  may  say  that  he  did  not  love  each  soldier,  we  must 
yet  assert  that  no  general  ever  loved  his  army  better. 
If  the  individual  soldier  had  to  be  sacrificed  for  the  good 
of  the  army,  he  hesitated  not ;  but,  since  the  efficiency  of 
the  army  required  the  comfort  and  safety  of  the  individ- 
ual soldier,  the  British  private  could  not  possibly  have 
sustained  fewer  hardships  in  Spain  than  he  experienced 
under  Wellington.     In  a  word,  and  in  all  cases,  those 
under  our  great  chief  experienced  that  security  and  as- 
sured joy  which  weakness  always  finds  under  the  shield 

4  of  strength.     We  might  appeal  to  the  case  of  the  captive 
son  of  Dhoondiah  to  prove  that  kindness  lay  deep  in  his 
nature;   it  was  this  which,  uniting  with   his  powerful 
faculties,  naturally  produced  the  considerate  beneficence 
which  we  assert  to  have  distinguished  him.     We  can  not 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  7S 

believe  that  lie  looked  upon  his  army  merely  as  a  machine, 
and  that  all  his  care  for  it  arose  from  simple  calculation  ; 
but  he  was  content,  if  he  deserved  his  soldiers'  love  by 
maintaining  their  general  comfort,  to  be  without  it  rather 
than  abstain  from  sacrificing  one  for  the  good  of  all.  Of 
all  theatricality  he  was  singularly  void,  and  his  emotions 
were  always  under  the  strict  guidance  of  reason. 

There  have  been  countless  historical  parallels  instituted  5 
between  Wellington  and  other  great  generals.  He  has 
been  very  ably  compared  to  Cromwell,  and  in  some  re- 
spects he  resembled  that  astonishing  man.  The  same 
piercing  vision,  the  same  swift  energy,  the  same  organiz- 
ing genius,  distinguished  both.  But  the  parallel  fails  in  a 
most  important  point :  the  conditions  of  the  time  made  it 
morally  impossible  for  a  Cromwell  to  be  produced  in  the 
last  great  European  outburst  of  intellect.  In  the  great 
Puritan  awakening,  the  infinite  elements  of  religion  and 
of  duty  had  the  most  prominent  and  pervading  influence ; 
the  Puritan  felt  himself  fighting  under  the  banner  of 
Jehovah ;  the  earth  was  to  him  a  little  desert,  bordered  by 
the  celestial  mountains,  and  what  mattered  it  though  he 
fought  and  toiled  here  if  he  saw  the  crown  awaiting  him 
yonder.  A  time  which  produced  its  highest  literary  im- 
personation in  Milton  might  have,  as  its  great  martial  im- 
personation, Cromwell.  But,  in  that  mighty  shaking  of  6 
the  nations  which  is  still  going  on,  the  infinite  elements 
of  our  nature  have  probably  had  less  direct  influence  upon 
the  minds  of  men  than  was  ever  the  case  before.  The 
highest  idea  of  the  philosophism  from  which  it  sprung 
was,  that  man  should  conquer  the  elements,  assert  his 
freedom,  and  carpet  for  himself  the  earth  with  the  flow- 
ers of  Paradise.  Science  was  put  into  the  place  of  God  ; 
the  light  of  earth  was  deemed  to  have  utterly  eclipsed 
the  light  from  heaven.  Never,  perhaps,  did  the  world  so 


76  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

minutely  answer  to  the  idea  of  a  stage,  where  puppet 
philosophers  and  puppet  armies  played  their  parts  in  the 
most  profound  unconsciousness  that  God  held  the  wires ; 
never  was  the  Divinity  who  was  silently  shaping  the  ends 
so  totally  invisible  to  those  who  were  rough-hewing  them. 

7  Of  the  distinctive  opinions  of  this  era  we  regard  Shelley 
as  the  greatest  literary  impersonation ;  its  two  greatest 
martial  impersonations  were  Napoleon  and  Wellington. 
It  is  but  a  partial  resemblance  that  there  can  be  between 
the  great  Puritan  general  and  the  conqueror  of  Waterloo ; 
a  more  correct  parallel  would  be  between  the  Dukes  of 
Wellington  and  of  Albemarle. 

8  We  think  we  find  a  singularly  close  parallel  to  the 
career  of  Napoleon  and  Wellington  in  that  of  Hannibal 
and  Scipio.     The  first  of  these  ancient  generals  is  pretty 
generally  recognized  as  the  greatest  military  genius  that 
ever  lived.     He  ran  his  course  from  victory  to  victory 
until  a  general  arose  to  oppose  him  whose  attention  was 
sleepless,  whose  accuracy  was  unfailing,  whose  intellec- 
tual vision  was  penetrating,  whose  valor  was  daunt 
and  who  could  bring  troops  into  the  field  which  no  Afri- 
can levies  could  match.     They  met  on  the  plains  of  Za- 
ma ;  fame  has  not  failed  to  record  that  the  generalship  of 
Hannibal  at  least  equaled  that  of   Scipio ;   but  victory 

9  fled  for  ever  to  the  Roman  eagles.     Wellington  belonged 
to  the  class  of  generals  represented  by  Scipio ;  Napoleon  t<> 
that  represented  by  Hannibal.     The  wild  force  of  genius 
has  oft  been  fated  by  Nature  to  be  finally  overcome  by 
quiet  strength,  and  never  was  it  more  signally  so  than  in 
the  case  of  Napoleon  and  Wellington.    The  volcano  sends 
up  its  red  bolt  with  terrific  force,  as  if  it  would  strike  the 
stars ;  but  the  calm,  resistless  hand  of  gravitation  seizes  it 
and  brings  it  to  the  earth. 

10       We  look  upon  the  late  Duke  as  one  of  the  soundest 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  77 

and  stateliest  men  that  Great  Britain  has  produced — one 
of  those  embodied  forces  which  are  sent  by  God  to  per- 
form important  parts  in  the  history  of  the  world,  and 
around  which  their  respective  generations  are  seen  to 
cluster.  The  memory  of  such  men  is  a  sacred  treasure. 
The  men  of  Elis  did  well  in  appointing  the  descendants 
of  Phidias  to  preserve  from  spot  or  from  detriment  their 
grand  statue  of  gold  and  ivory ;  it  had  been  produced  in 
one  generation  ;  it  was  much  if  following  generations  kept 
it  whole  and  untarnished.  Our  great  Wellington  has 
just  been  placed  in  the  temple  of  the  past,  to  sit  there 
with  the  heroes  of  other  times,  and  to  witness  that  among 
us  too,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  a  mighty  man  arose.  It 
is  the  duty  of  us  and  of  our  children  to  see  that  no  blot 
abide  upon  his  massive  and  majestic  statue. 


THE    DUKE    OF    WELLINGTON.— THE    BATTLE    OF 
WATERLOO. 

BAYNE'S  "ESSAYS." 
(See  note  on  preceding  extract.) 

WE  now  draw  toward  the  end  of  that  great  martial  1 
drama  which  we  have  been  briefly  contemplating.  While 
Wellington  was  marching  upon  France,  with  the  armies 
of  Napoleon  in  retreat  before  him,  the  nations  of  the 
north  were  closing  in  upon  their  great  master.  When 
the  ducal  coronet  had  been  placed  upon  Wellington's 
brow  and  the  marshal's  baton  put  into  his  hand,  after  the 
great  triumph  of  Vittoria,  the  contest  in  the  north  was 
still  doubtful,  although  the  scale  of  Napoleon  seemed 


78  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

steadily  rising ;  when  the  last  blow  was  dealt  at  Toulouse, 
the  scepter  and  the  sword  had  fallen  from  his  grasp. 
They  sent  him  to  Elba,  and  Europe  snatched  a  few  mo- 
ments of  restless  repose,  while  huge  armies  not  yet  dis- 

2  banded  lay  like  nightmares  on  its  troubled  bosom.     But 
the  end  had  not  yet  come ;  the  thunders  were  to  awake 
once  more   ere   the  azure  of   peace  was  to  smile  over 
Europe.     Suddenly  it  was  awakened,  as  by  a  red  bolt  of 
fire  passing  across  the  sky  ;  Napoleon  had  burst  his  chains, 
and  was  again  at  the  head  of  his  armies.     And  now  the 
two  extraordinary  men,  who  had  been  born  in  the  same 
year,  and  who  had  from  the  first  been  destined  to  meet, 
were  finally  to  close  in  the  wrestle  of  death.     Once  more 
the  wild  Celtic  vehemence  and  valor,  under  a  leader  of 
mighty  but  kindred  genius,  were  to  come  into  conflict 
with  the  still,  indomitable  strength  of  the  Teutons,  under 
a  leader  whose  overwhelming  powers  were  all  masked  in 
calmness.     We  must  omit  all  preliminaries,  and  endeavor 
to  gaze  upon  the  great  contest  itself. 

3  After  various  passages  of  war,  the  two  hosts  lay  facing 
each  other  on  the  heights  of  Waterloo ;  the  French  were 
posted  on  one  ridge,  the  British  on  another,  and  there 
were  several  important  posts  of  defense  between  them. 
The  dim  morning  of  the  memorable  18th  of  June,  1815, 
looked  down  upon  the  British  squares  on  the  one  hill-side, 
and  the  vast  masses  of  French  cavalry  and  infantry  on  the 
opposing  heights;  in  the  valley  between  them,  summer 
had  spread  out  a  rye-field  ;  ere  evening,  it  was  to  be  trod- 

4  den  flat,  and  welded  together  by  human  gore.     It  is  a 
common  enough  remark  in  the  present  day  that  the  mod- 
ern battle  lacks  the  interest  and  sublimity  of  the  ancient 
one ;  mechanically,  it  is  said,  you  shoot,  and  mechanically 
you  are  shot  at ;  the  wild  fire  that  lit  the  eye  of  an  Achil- 
les can  gleam  no  more ;  the  shattering  sway  of  the  one 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  79 

strong  arm  has  ceased  to  be  of  account  in  the  day  of 
battle ;  give  us  the  fiery  melee  of  the  olden  time,  in 
which  a  Hector  could  mingle,  and  of  which  a  Homer 
could  sing.  Is  it,  then,  so  superlatively  and  exclusively 
noble  and  difficult  to  deal  the  stern  blow  when  the  nerves 
are  strung  by  the  animal  excitement  of  the  combat,  and 
the  enthusiasm  is  raised  by  the  presence  and  justling  of 
the  foe  ?  And  is  it  nothing  to  gaze,  unflinching,  upon  the 
slow,  steady  advance  of  the  column,  from  which  the  eye 
of  death  is  calmly  glaring  ?  Is  that  deliberate  determina- 
tion of  small  account  by  which  death,  whether  it  comes 
in  the  shattering  cannon-ball,  or  the  tearing  musket-bullet, 
or  the  cold  bayonet-stab,  is  chosen  before  flight  or  surren- 
der? We  declare  without  hesitation  that  the  moderns 
battle  is  a  grander  spectacle  than  was  the  ancient ;  around 
no  Homeric  battle  was  there  ever  such  a  terrific  sublimity 
as  there  hung  around  the  field  of  Waterloo.  Napoleon 
did  not,  with  bared  arm,  rush  into  the  midst  of  the  com- 
batants, trusting  to  his  single  prowess.  Wellington  did 
not,  heading  with  musket  and  bayonet  the  onward  charge, 
expose  his  bosom  to  the  steel.  But  did  ever  an  Achilles 
or  an  Attila  avail  so  much  in  the  day  of  battle  as  that 
dark-browed  Corsican,  or  that  calm,  clear-eyed  Briton? 
Each  remained  apart,  wielding  the  tremendous  mechanism 
of  war,  mightier  than  the  very  gods  of  Homer.  And  had 
the  valor  which  they  wielded  become  mechanism,  had 
human  heroism  no  place  in  that  field  ?  Let  us  look  upon  6 
it  and  see.  Under  the  fitting  drapery  of  jagged  and 
trailing  clouds,  which  seemed  weeping  over  the  fearful 
scene,  stood  a  certain  number  of  little  squares,  ranged  on 
the  slope  of  a  valley  ;  toil-worn  they  were,  drenched  with 
rain,  and  few  in  number  on  the  bleak  hill-side.  On  the 
ridges  to  which,  with  dauntless  eye,  they  looked,  were 
ranged  three  hundred  cannon;  from  all  their  throats, 


80  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

through  the  long  and  weary  hours,  was  poured  forth  the 
shower  of  iron,  tearing  and  shattering  those  little  squares, 
winnowing  their  ranks  with  a  tempest  of  death.  And 
whenever  the  mangling  shot  had  done  its  work,  and  a 
gap  yawned,  on  dashed  the  lancers  or  cuirassiers,  as  the 

7  ocean  dashes  on  the  rock  riven  of  the  thunderbolt.     Yet 
it  was  all  in  vain.     The  roar  of  death  from  those  three 
hundred   cannon  -  throats   they  heard   undismayed;    the 
gleam  of  the  lancers  and  the  glittering  of  the  cuirasses, 
as  the  horsemen  dashed  out  from  the  cloudy  smoke,  with 
death  upon  their  plumes,  they  eyed  unswerving.     Hour 
after  hour  rolled  heavily  away,  and  the  patient  earth,  with 
all  her  summer  burden,  wheeled  on  to  the  east.     The 
squares  dwindled,  and  several  united  into  one ;  the  arm 
was  growing  heavy,  the  scent  of  blood  filled  the  air,  the 
ground  was  fattening  with  human  gore ;  yet  they  yielded 
not.     In  silence  they  closed  up  their  ranks,  as  brother 
after  brother  fell   a  mangled  corpse  ;   with  the  earnest 
prayer  of  agony  they  implored  to  be  led  against  the  foe. 

8  But  yield  they  never  would  ;  the  car  of  death  might  crush 
them  into  the  ground,  but  it  was  only  so  that  a  path 
could  be  made.     Sterner  or  nobler  valor  never  fought 
round  windy  Troy. 

"  0  proud  Death, 
What  feast  was  toward  in  thine  eternal  cell!  " 

From  noon  until  eve  those  cannon  had  roared,  and 
squadron  after  squadron  of  horsemen  had  poured  upon 
those  squares ;  and  now,  as  the  shades  of  a  gloomy  even- 
ing were  beginning  to  fall,  the  fight  was  ever  becoming 
the  sterner,  and  the  light  in  that  dark,  fiery  eye,  which 
directed  the  French  columns,  the  more  wild  and  agitated. 
Once  more,  as  if  by  a  tremendous  effort  to  wrest  the  scep- 
ter from  destiny,  an  attempt  was  to  be  made  by  Napo- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

leon.  His  old  guard  yet  remained.  They  loved  him  as  9 
children  love  their  father;  they  had  received  from  his 
hand  the  wreaths  of  honor  and  victory ;  some  of  them 
had  followed  him  to  the  fiaines  of  Moscow ;  on  some  of 
them  had  risen  the  sun  of  Austerlitz  ;  and  now  for  that 
dear  master  they  were  to  go  against  those  unconquerable 
squares.  Beyond  them  lay  fame,  and  honor,  and  victory  ; 
to  yield  a  foot  was  destruction  and  despair.  Slowly, 
under  the  rolling  smoke  of  those  great  guns,  they  ad- 
vanced, with  the  firm  tread  of  men  whose  nerves  had  long 
been  strung  to  the  music  of  battle ;  we  shall  not  liken 
them  to  tornado  or  thunder-cloud  ;  there  is  no  spectacle  so 
fearful  to  man  as  the  calm,  determined  advance  of  thou- 
sands of  his  brothers  to  the  strife  of  death.  Let  the  brave  10 
have  their  due  !  The  old  guard  advanced  most  gallantly ; 
but  they  were  ploughed  up,  as  they  approached,  by  the 
British  artillery,  and  a  murderous  fire  from  the  unquiver- 
ing  British  arm  searched  their  ranks  as  they  endeavored 
to  deploy ;  valiantly  did  they  attempt  it,  but  it  was  in 
vain.  Torn  and  mangled  by  that  terrible  fire,  they  wa- 
vered ;  in  a  moment  the  British  horsemen  dashed  into 
their  ranks  and  rolled  them  backward  in  wild  confusion. 
All  was  won  on  the  one  side,  and  all  was  lost  on  the  other. 
Who  can  tell  the  feeling  of  serene  and  complete  satisfac-11 
tion  which  then  filled  fi3  V?ast  of  Wellington!  And, 
ah !  who  can  image  to  himself  the  dread  moment  when 
thick  clouds  rushed  over  the  fire  of  that  imperial  eye, 
whose  lightnings  were  to  smite  the  towers  of  earth  no 
more  !  Lo !  mid  the  thickening  dusk,  while  the  cheer  of 
another  host  comes  on  the  gale,  the  shattered  squares 
have  opened  into  line.  At  last,  the  bayonets  glittering 
afar  in  the  cloudy  air,  they  sweep  down  the  ridges  to  vic- 
tory. For  a  moment  Napoleon  saw  the  long  line,  as  it 
came  on  like  the  rolling  simoom.  Shakespeare  could  not 


82  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

have  voiced  his  emotions  at  the  sight.  And  he  passed 
away  to  his  lonely  rock  in  the  sea,  to  exhibit  the  sublimest 
spectacle  of  modern  times,  whose  deathless  sorrow  could 
be  sung  by  no  harp  but  that  of  the  melancholy  ocean. 

12  Now  was  the  time  when  the  genuine  and  lofty  man- 
hood of  our  mighty  Wellington  displayed  itself.  He  had 
reached  the  highest  pinnacle  of  fame,  the  eye  of  Europe 
was  fixed  upon  him,  and  his  grateful  country  exhausted 
in  his  behoof  her  storehouse  of  honor  and  reward.  It  is 
such  moments  that  try  men.  The  towering  Andes,  with 
the  serene  air  of  the  upper  heavens  about  their  brows,  pre- 
sent us  with  two  phenomena:  to  those  solitudes  of  the 
pathless  sky,  by  the  force  of  wind  and  the  tumults  of  the 
lower  atmosphere,  are  borne  the  smallest  insects  ;  in  those 
serene  solitudes,  in  the  full  flood  of  the  undimmed  sun- 
shine, floats  the  condor.  The  difference  between  the  two 
is  marked.  The  insects,  borne  aloft  by  external  and  not 
by  internal  strength,  are  tossed  hither  and  thither  in  the 
thin  air,  with  their  little  pinions  tattered,  and  their  little 
senses  bewildered  ;  the  condor,  with  outspread  fans,  rests 
upon  the  liquid  ether  as  his  native  element,  whither  Na- 

ISturehad  designed  him  to  ascend.  The  phenomena  are 
replete  with  meaning  to  the  eye  of  wisdom.  By  popular 
applause,  by  confusion  and  turmoil,  the  human  insect  is 
often  borne  for  a  time  aloft,  to  be  dashed  about  and  to 
fall ;  the  man  who,  rising  far  over  his  fellows,  and  bask- 
ing in  the  full  beams  of  glory  and  victory,  rests  there 
placid  and  immovable  as  the  condor,  is  a  true  and  mighty 
son  of  Nature.  His  strength  is  from  within.  So,  most 
emphatically,  it  was  with  Wellington;  the  world's  ap- 
plause did  not  quicken  a  pulse  in  his  frame,  or  flutter  for 
a  moment  his  calm  and  manly  intellect. 

14  In  connection  with  this  part  of  the  career  of  Welling- 
ton, there  is  one  name  which  we  can  not  pass  over ;  if 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  83 

not  an  actual  spot  in  the  sun  of  his  glory,  it  is  at  least  a 
faint  mist  which  has  obscured  it.  That  name  is  Ney. 
We  must  confess  a  very  strong  wish  that  Wellington  had 
done  his  utmost  to  save  Ney.  To  say  he  was  not  required 
to  do  it  by  justice,  or  even  by  honor,  is  probably  to  assert 
a  fact ;  but  it  is  virtually  to  admit  the  absence  of  a  satis- 
factory plea.  Why  talk  of  the  iron  rod  of  justice  or  the 
cold  code  of  honor  here ;  hath  mercy  no  golden  scepter  to 
extend  to  the  vanquished  ?  How  beautiful,  as  he  returned 
resistless  from  the  field,  would  this  trait  of  human  kind- 
ness have  shown-$  a»  a  sunbeam  on  the  wings  of  a  proud 
eagle,  that  at  eventide  seeks  his  island-eyrie,  after  having 
vanquished  all  that  resisted !  He  had  stilled  the  tempests 
of  Europe  as  the  wise  and  kind  Magician  stilled  the  ele- 
ments and  the  demons ;  and  when,  like  him,  he  was  to 
lay  his  terrors  aside,  would  not  the  spectacle  have  been 
still  more  noble  and  sublime  if,  like  Prospero,  he  had 
closed  all  with  a  strain  of  mercy's  music  ?  We  shall  not  15 
say  that  the  affair  left  a  blot  on  the  Duke's  escutcheon  ; 
we  can  imagine  that,  with  his  rigid  habits  of  adherence  to 
form,  his  unwillingness  in  any  particulars  to  overstep  his 
powers  or  prerogatives,  and  the  natural  reserve  of  his 
character,  he  might  not  feel  himself  called  upon  directly 
to  interfere ;  but,  had  he  for  once  cast  all  such  feelings 
aside,  and  striven  energetically  to  save  Ney,  it  would 
have  cast  such  an  enhancing  light  over  all  his  glories  that 
we  can  not  but  regret  its  absence. 

We  shall  not  follow  the  Duke  of  Wellington  in  the  16 
remaining  portion  of  his  career.  As  a  statesman,  he  dis- 
played the  same  decision  and  the  same  intellectual  per- 
spicacity which  had  marked  him  as  a  soldier ;  he  had  a 
deep  sympathy  with  that  old  conservatism  which  has  now 
been  so  severely  battered  by  free-traders  and  Manchester 
schools,  but  which  numbered  in  its  ranks  much  of  the 
7 


84  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

highest  and  the  noblest  blood  in  Britain ;  when  the  trum- 
pet of  advancement  spoke  so  clearly  and  so  loud  that  it 
could  be  neither  mistaken  nor  resisted,  he  advanced.  It 
was  when  he  was  at  the  head  of  the  Government,  in  1829, 
that  the  famous  measure  for  the 'emancipation  of  the  Ro- 
man Catholics  was  passed. 

17  We  seem  to  see  him,  after  the  pacification  of  Europe, 
taking  up  his  abode,  in  calm  majesty,  in  the  island  round 
which  he  had  built  such  a  battlement  of  strength  and  of 
glory.      We  shall  apply  to  him  the  superb  thought  of 
Tennyson  :  % 

"  With  his  hand  against  the  hilt, 
He  paced  the  troubled  laud,  like  Peace." 

18  We  tnist  that  sonu-  portraiture  of  the  character  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  has  been  presented  to  the  reader  in 
the  foregoing  paragraphs.     It  well  became  us  to  trust  for 
such  portraiture  to  his  mighty  deeds  rather  than  to  our 
puny  words.    But  we  deem  a  few  supplementary  remarks 
necessary  for  the  general    summing   up  of  his  charac- 
ter.    His  radical  characteristics  were  calmness,  clearness, 
strength  ;   they  are  easily  read,  and  it  is  not  difficult  to 
refer  to  their  action  every  portion  of  his  career.     We  see 
them  everywhere ;  in  the  unerring  but  silent  care  witli 
which  he  gained  a  comprehensive  knowledge  of  the  con- 
ditions of  every  contest  in  which  he  was  engaged  ;  in  the 
piercing  and  certain  glance   by  which  he  detected  the 
error  of  an  opponent ;  in  the  sedate  and  massive  composure 
of  his  dispatches,  where  clearness  of  vision  produces  pic- 
tures rivaling  the  efforts  of  art ;  in  the  marble  stillness  and 

19  strength  of  his  firm  cheek  and  unwrinkled  forehead.    We 
trace  the  same  characteristics  in  his  valor.     He  has  been 
called  cautious  and  hesitating ;  after  the  charges  of  Assaye, 
the  passage  of  the  Douro,  and  the  eagle  swoop  of  Sala- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  85 

manca !  The  accusation  has  been  founded  on  a  simple 
mistake.  We  have  been  told,  and  with  sufficient  truth, 
that  the  word  impossible  is  a  word  of  ill  omen ;  the  scru- 
pulous, hesitating  ideologist  who  fears  to  take  a  step  lest 
the  earth  yawn,  is  little  worth.  Yet  the  power  to  discern 
the  impossible  is  but  the  necessary  complement  of  the 
power  to  discern  the  possible.  A  thousandfold  clamor  20 
declares  that  such  a  thing  can  not  be  done,  but  the  man 
of  commanding  intellect  distinctly  hears  the  voice  of  Na- 
ture saying  it  can,  and  does  it ;  he  is  declared  valiant, 
fiery,  and  so  forth.  A  similar  clamor  pronounces  such  a 
thing  to  be  possible,  but  the  man  of  mind  still  hears  the 
voice  of  Nature  whispering  "  No,"  and  abstains  from 
doing  it ;  he  is  called  cautious,  phlegmatic,  or  cowardly. 
Both  clamors  have  been  heard  in  the  case  of  Wellington ; 
and  it  were  a  question  which  was  the  more  inane.  Few 
eyes  ever  looked  upon  a  battle-field  with  a  surer  percep 
tion  of  the  possible  and  the  impossible  than  his ;  he  would 
not  draw  his  sword  to  hew  rocks,  but  when  he  did  draw 
it,  it  went  through. 


SAILING   OF  THE   SPANISH    ARMADA. 
FROUDE'S  "HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

After  the  execution  of  Mary  Stuart,  the  indignation  of  the  Catho- 
lic powers  was  naturally  aroused  against  the  English  Government, 
and  Spain,  then  the  leading  kingdom  of  Europe,  as  well  as  the 
champion  of  the  Catholic  cause,  set  on  foot  the  splendid  Armada 
designed  to  avenge  Mary's  death  and  restore  the  Catholic  suprem- 
acy in  England.  Mary  was  executed  in  1587,  and  the  Armada 
sailed  in  1588.  Never  did  a  fleet  receive  a  more  signal  overthrow. 
The  elements  seemed  to  have  conspired  against  it.  A  comparatively 


86  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

small  portion  of  the  magnificent  armament  ever  reached  Spain  in 
safety. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  played  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  defeat  of 
the  Armada.  From  this  signal  disaster  the  power  of  Spain  began 
to  decline,  though  it  remained  formidable  for  a  considerable  period. 

1  ALL  being  thus  in  order,  the  Prince  of  Parma  ready 
to  embark,  the  paternal  admonition  to  the  English  nation 
to  commit  treason  prepared  for  circulation,  and  the  last 
touches  added  to  the  completeness  of  the  fleet  in  the 
Tagus,  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  sailed  from  Lisbon 
on  the  19th-29th  of  May.     The  northerly  breeze  which 
prevails  on  the  coast  of  Portugal  was  unusually  strong. 

2  The  galleons  standing  high  out  of  the  water,  and  carrying 
small  canvas  in  proportion  to  their  size,  worked  badly  to 
windward.     They  were  three  weeks  in  reaching  Finis- 
terre,  where,  the  wind  having  freshened  to  a  gale,  they 
were  scattered,  some  standing  out  to  sea,  some  into  the 
Bay  of  Biscay.    Their  orders,  in  the  event  of  such  a  casu- 
alty, had  been  to  make  for  Ferrol.    The  wind  shifting 
suddenly  to  the  west,  those  that  had  gone  into  the  bay 
could  not  immediately  reach  it,  and  were  driven  into  San- 
tander.     The  officers,  however,  were,  on  the  whole,  well 
satisfied  with  the  qualities  which  the  ships  had  displayed. 
A  mast  or  two  had  been  sprung,  a  few  yards  and  bow- 
sprits had  been  carried  away ;  but  beyond  loss  of  time 
there  had  been  no  serious  damage. 

The  weather  moderating,  the  fleet  was  again  collected 
in  the  Bay  of  Ferrol  by  the  6th-16th*  of  July.  All  repairs 
were  completed  by  the  llth-21st,  and  the  next  day,  12th- 
22d,  the  Armada  took  leave  of  Spain  for  the  last  time. 

3  The  scene  as  the  fleet  passed  out  of  the  harbor  nm.-t 

*  6th-16th,  19th-29th,  etc.,  indicate  the  respective  dates  as  represented 
by  the  Old  Style  and  the  New  Style.  The  last  reform  in  our  calendar  dates 
from  1752.  (See  "  Note  on  the  Early  Life  of  George  Washington.") 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  8? 

have  been  singularly  beautiful.  It  was  a  treacherous 
interval  of  real  summer.  The  early  sun  was  lighting  the 
long  chain  of  the  Gallician  mountains,  marking  with 
shadows  the  cleft  defiles,  and  shining  softly  on  the  white 
walls  and  vineyards  of  Coruiia.  The  wind  was  light,  and 
falling  toward  a  calm ;  the  great  galleons  drifted  slowly 
with  the  tide  on  the  purple  water,  the  long  streamers 
trailing  from  the  trucks,  the  red  crosses,  the  emblems  of 
the  crusade,  showing  bright  upon  the  hanging  sails.  The 
fruit-boats  were  bringing  off  the  last  fresh  supplies,  and 
the  pinnaces  hastening  to  the  ships  with  the  last  loiterers 
on  shore.  Out  of  thirty  thousand  men  who  that  morning 
stood  upon  the  decks  of  the  proud  Armada,  twenty  thou- 
sand and  more  were  never  again  to  see  the  hills  of  Spain. 
Of  the  remnant  who  in  two  short  months  crept  back 
ragged  and  torn,  all  but  a  few  hundred  returned  only 
to  die. 

The  Spaniards,  though  a  great  people,  were  usually  4 
over-conscious  of  their  greatness,  and  boasted  too  loudly 
of  their  fame  and  prowess ;  but  among  the  soldiers  and 
sailors  of  the  doomed  expedition  against  England  the 
national  vainglory  was  singularly  silent.  They  were  the 
flower  of  the  country,  culled  and  chosen  over  the  entire 
Peninsula,  and  they  were  going  with  a  modest  nobility 
upon  a  service  which  they  knew  to  be  dangerous,  but 
which  they  believed  to  be  peculiarly  sacred.  Every  one — 
seaman,  officer,  and  soldier — had  confessed  and  communi- 
cated before  he  went  on  board.  Gambling,  swearing, 
profane  language  of  all  kinds  had  been  peremptorily  for- 
bidden. Private  quarrels  and  differences  had  been  made 
up  or  suspended.  In  every  vessel,  and  in  the  whole 
fleet,  the  strictest  order  was  prescribed  and  observed. 
Medina  Sidonia  led  the  way  in  the  San  Martin,  showing 
lights  at  night,  and  firing  guns  when  the  weather  was 


88  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

hazy.     Mount's  Bay  was  to  be  the  next  place  of  rendez- 
vous if  they  were  again  separated. 

5  On  the  first  evening  the  wind  dropped  to  a  calm. 
The  morning  after,  the  13th-2:kl,  a  fair  fresh  breeze 
came  up  from  the  south  and  southwest,  the  ships  ran 
flowingly  before  it,  and  in  two  days  and  nights  they  had 
crossed  the  bay  and  were  off  Ushant.     The  fastest  of  the 
pinnaces  was  dispatched  from  thence  to  Parma,  with  a 
letter  bidding  him  expect  the  Duke's  immediate  coming. 

6  But  they  had  now  entered  the  latitude  of  the  storms, 
which  through  the  whole  season  had  raged  round  the 
English  shore.     The  same  night  a  southwest  gale  over- 
took them.    They  lay  to,  not  daring  to  run  farther.    The 
four  galleys,  unable  to  keep  the  sea,  were  driven  in  upon 
the  French  coast  and  wrecked.    The  Santa  Ana,  a  galleon 
of  eight  hundred  tons,  went  down,  carrying  with  her 
ninety  seamen,  three  hundred  soldiers,  and  fifty  thousand 
ducats  in  gold.     The  weather  was  believed  to  be  under 
the  peculiar  care  of  God,  and  this  first  misfortune  was  of 
evil  omen  for  the  future.     The  storm  lasted  two  days, 
and  then  the  sky  cleared ;  and  again  gathering  into  order, 

7  they  proceeded  on  their  way.     On  the  19th-29th  they 
were  in  the  mouth  of  the  Channel.     At  daybreak  on  the 
morning  of  the  20th -30th  the  Lizard  was  under  their  lee, 
and   an  English  fishing- boat  was   hanging   near  them, 
counting  their  numbers.     They  gave  chase,  but  the  boat 
shot  away  clown-wind  and  disappeared.     They  captured 
another  an  hour  or  two  later,  from  which  they  learned  the 
English  fleet  was  in  Plymouth,  and  Medina  Sidonia  called 
a  council  of  war  to  consider  whether  they  should  go  in 
and  fall  upon  it  while  at  anchor.     Philip's  orders,  how- 
ever, were  peremptory  that  they  should  turn  neither  right 
nor  left,  and  make  straight  for  Margate  Roads  and  Parma. 
The  Duke  was  unenterprising,  and  consciously  unequal 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  89 

to  his  work  ;  and,  already  bending  under  his  responsibili- 
ties, he  hesitated  to  add  to  them. 

Had  he  decided  otherwise  it  would  have  made  no  8 
difference,  for  the  opportunity  was  not  allowed  him. 
Long  before  the  Spaniards  saw  the  Lizard,  they  had  them- 
selves been  seen,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  19th-29th 
the  beacons  along  the  coast  had  told  England  that  the 
hour  of  its  trial  was  come. 

To  the  ships  at  Plymouth  the  news  was  as  a  message  9 
of  salvation.  By  thrift  and  short  rations,  by  good  man- 
agement, contented  care,  and  lavish  use  of  private  means, 
there  was  still  one  week's  provisions  in  the  magazines, 
with  powder  and  shot  for  one  day's  sharp  fighting,  accord- 
ing to  English  notions  of  what  fighting  ought  to  be. 
They  had  to  meet  the  enemy,  as  it  were,  with  one  arm 
bandaged  by  their  own  sovereign ;  but  all  wants,  all  diffi- 
culties, were  forgotten  in  the  knowledge  that  he  was 
come,  and  that  they  could  grapple  with  him  before  they 
were  dissolved  by  starvation. 

The  warning  light  flew  on  to  London,  swift  mes-10 
sengers  galloping  behind  it.  There  was  saddling  and 
arming  in  village  and  town,  and  musters  flocking  to  their 
posts.  Loyal  England  forgot  its  difference  of  creeds,  and 
knew  nothing  but  that  the  invader  was  at  the  door.  One 
thing  was  wanting — a  soldier  to  take  the  supreme  com- 
mand; but  the  Queen  found  what  she  needed,  found  it 
in  the  person  in  whom,  in  her  eyes,  notwithstanding  his 
offences  in  the  Low  Countries,  all  excellencies  were  still 
combined — her  own  Leicester.  Worse  appointment  could 
not  possibly  have  been  made ;  but  even  Leicester  was 
lifted  into  a  kind  of  hero  by  the  excitement  of  the  mo- 
ment. He  was  not  a  coward,  and  not  entirely  a  fool. 
Tilbury  had  been  chosen  as  the  place  where  the  force  11 
was  to  assemble  which  was  intended  to  cover  London. 


90  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

It  was  the  lowest  spot  where  the  Thames  could  be  easily 
crossed,  and  it  was  impossible  to  say  on  which  side  of  the 
river  the  enemy  might  choose  to  approach.  Leicester 
flew  at  once  to  his  post  there,  and  so  far  had  he  fulfilled 
his  duty  that  he  had  sixteen  thousand  men  with  him  at 
Tilbury,  with  thirty  thousand  forming  rapidly  in  his  rear 
out  of  the  musters  of  the  midland  counties,  before  Parma 
could  have  advanced,  under  the  most  favorable  circum- 
stances, within  a  day's  march  of  London. 


SKETCH    OF  JULIUS  C/ESAR. 
FROUDE'S  "CAESAR." 

As  is  remarked  further  on,  Froude's  estimate  of  Julius  Caesar 
should  be  compared  with  Mommsen's.  A  more  distinct  impression 
of  an  historical  character  is  sometimes  gained  by  studying  two 
portraits. 

1  IN  person,  Csesar  was  tall  and  slight.     His  features 
were  more  refined  than  was  usual  in  Roman  faces.     The 
forehead  was  wide  and  high,  the  nose  large  and  thin,  the 
lips  full,  the  eyes  dark-gray  like  an  eagle's,  the  neck  ex- 
tremely thick  and    sinewy.     His  complexion  was  pale. 
His   beard  and   mustache   were  kept  carefully  shaved. 
His  hair  was  short  and  naturally  scanty,  falling  off  to- 
ward the  end  of  his  life  and  leaving  him  partially  bald. 
His  voice,  especially  when  he  spoke  in  public,  was  high 

2  and  shrill.     His  health  was  uniformly  strong  until  his 
last  year,  when  he  became  subject  to  epileptic  fits.     He 
was  a  great  bather,  and  scrupulously  clean  in  all  his  habits, 
abstemious  in  his  food,  and  careless  in  what  it  consisted, 
rarely  or  never  touching  wine,  and  noting  sobriety  as 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  91 

the  highest  of  qualities  when  describing  any  new  people. 
He  was  an  athlete  in  early  life,  admirable  in  all  manly 
exercises,  and  especially  in  riding.  In  Gaul,  as  has  been 
taid  already,  he  rode  a  remarkable  horse,  which  he  had 
bred  himself,  and  which  would  let  no  one  but  Caesar 
mount  him.  From  his  boyhood  it  was  observed  of  him  3 
that  he  was  the  truest  of  friends,  that  he  avoided  quar- 
rels, and  was  most  easily  appeased  when  offended.  In 
manner  he  was  quiet  and  gentlemanlike,  with  the  natural 
courtesy  of  high  breeding.  On  an  occasion  when  he  was 
dining  somewhere  the  other  guests  found  the  oil  too 
rancid  for  them.  Caesar  took  it  without  remark,  to  spare 
his  entertainer's  feelings.  When  on  a  journey  through 
a  forest  with  his  friend  Oppius,  he  came  one  night  to  a 
hut  where  there  was  a  single  bed  Oppius  being  un- 
well, Caesar  gave  it  up  to  him  and  slept  on  the  ground. 

In  his  public  character  he  may  be  regarded  under  4 
three  aspects — as  a  politician,  a  soldier,  and  a  man  of  let- 
ters. 

Like  Cicero,  Caesar  entered  public  life  at  the  bar.  5 
He  belonged  by  birth  to  the  popular  party,  but  he  showed 
no  disposition,  like  the  Gracchi,  to  plunge  into  political 
agitation.  His  aims  were  practical.  He  made  war  only 
upon  injustice  and  oppression ;  and  when  he  commenced 
as  a  pleader  he  was  noted  for  the  energy  with  which  he 
protected  a  client  whom  he  believed  to  have  been  wronged. 
At  a  later  period,  before  he  was  praetor,  he  was  engaged 
in  defending  Masintha,  a  young  Numidian  prince,  who 
had  suffered  some  injury  from  Hiempsal,  the  father  of 
Juba.  Juba  himself  came  to  Rome  on  the  occasion, 
bringing  with  him  the  means  of  influencing  the  judges 
which  Jugurtha  had  found  so  effective.  Caesar  in  his 
indignation  seized  Juba  by  the  beard  in  the  court ;  and 
when  Masintha  was  sentenced  to  some  unjust  penalty, 


92  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

Caesar  carried  him  off,  concealed  him  in  his  house,  and 

6  took  him  to  Spain  in  his  carriage.     When  he  rose  into 
the  Senate,  his  powers  as  a  speaker  became  strikingly 
remarkable.     Cicero,  who  often  heard  him,  and  was  not 
a  favorable  judge,  said  that  there  was  a  pregnancy  in  his 
sentences  and  a  dignity  in  his  manner  which  no  orator  in 
Rome  could   approach.     But   he  never  spoke   to  co.irt 
popularity.     His  aim  from  first  to  last  was  better  govern- 
ment, the  prevention  of  bribery  and  extortion,  and  the 
distribution  among  deserving  citizens  of  some  portion  of 
the  public  land  which  the  rich  were  stealing.     The  Ju- 
lian laws,  which  excited  the  indignation  of  the  aristoc- 
racy, had  no  other  objects  than  these  ;  and  had  they  been 

7  observed  they  would  have  saved  the  constitution.     The 
obstinacy  of  faction  and  the  Civil  "War  which  grew  out 
of  it  obliged  him  to  extend  his  horizon,  to  contemplate 
more  radical  reforms — a  large  extension  of  the  privileges 
of  citizenship,  with  the  introduction  of  the  provincial 
nobility  into  the  Senate,  and  the  transfer  of  the  adn  i 
tration  from  the  Senate  and  annually  elected  magistr 

to  the  permanent  chief  of  the  army.  But  his  objects 
throughout  were  purely  practical.  The  purpose  of  gov- 
ernment he  conceived  to  be  the  execution  of  justice ;  and 
a  constitutional  liberty  under  which  justice  was  made 
impossible  did  not  appear  to  him  to  be  liberty  at  all. 

8  The  practicality  which  showed  itself  in  his  general 
aims  appeared  also  in  his  mode  of  working.     Caesar,  it 
was  observed,  when  anything  was  to  be  done,  selected  the 
man  who  was  best  able  to  do  it,  not  caring  particularly 
who  or  what  he  might  be  in  other  respects.     To  this  fac- 
ulty of  discerning  and  choosing  fit  persons  to  execute  his 
orders  may  be  ascribed  the  extraordinary  success  of  his 
own  provincial  administration,  the  enthusiasm  which  was 
felt  for  him  in  the  North  of  Italy,  and  the  perfect  quiet 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  93 

of  Gaul  after  the  completion  of  the  conquest.  Caesar  did 
not  crush  the  Gauls  under  the  weight  of  Italy.  He  took 
the  best  of  them  into  the  Roman  service,  promoted  them, 
led  them  to  associate  the  interests  of  the  Empire  with 
their  personal  advancement  and  the  prosperity  of  their  own 
people.  No  act  of  Caesar's  showed  more  sagacity  than 
the  introduction  of  Gallic  nobles  into  the  Senate  ;  none 
was  more  bitter  to  the  Scipios  and  Metelli,  who  were  com- 
pelled to  share  their  august  privileges  with  these  despised 
barbarians. 

It  was  by  accident  that  Caesar  took  up  the  profession  9 
of  a  soldier ;  yet,  perhaps,  no  commander  who  ever  lived 
showed  greater  military  genius.  The  conquest  of  Gaul 
was  effected  by  a  force  numerically  insignificant,  which 
was  worked  with  the  precision  of  a  machine.  The  va- 
riety of  uses  to  which  it  was  capable  of  being  turned  im- 
plied, in  the  first  place,  extraordinary  forethought  in  the 
selection  of  materials.  Men  whose  nominal  duty  was 
merely  to  fight  were  engineers,  architects,  mechanics  of 
the  highest  order.  In  a  few  hours  they  could  extemporize 
an  impregnable  fortress  on  an  open  hill-side.  They  bridged 
the  Rhine  in  a  week.  They  built  a  fleet  in  a  month.  The  10 
legions  at  Alesia  held  twice  their  number  pinned  within 
their  works,  while  they  kept  at  bay  the  whole  force  of 
insurgent  Gaul,  entirely  by  scientific  superiority.  The 
machine,  which  was  thus  perfect,  was  composed  of  hu- 
man beings  who  required  supplies  of  tools,  and  arms, 
and  clothes,  and  food,  and  shelter,  and  for  all  these  it 
depended  on  the  forethought  of  its  commander.  Maps 
there  were  none.  Countries  entirely  unknown  had  to  be 
surveyed  ;  routes  had  to  be  laid  out ;  the  depths  and 
courses  of  rivers,  the. character  of  mountain  passes,  had  all 
to  be  ascertained.  Allies  had  to  be  found  among  tribes 
as  yet  unheard  of.  Countless  contingent  difficulties  had 


94  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

to  be  provided  for,  many  of  which  must  necessarily  arise, 
though  the  exact  nature  of  them  could  not  be  anticipated. 
\  1  When  room  for  accidents  is  left  open,  accidents  do  not 
fail  to  be  heard  of.  But  Caesar  was  never  defeated  when 
personally  present,  save  once  at  Gergovia  and  once  at 
Durazzo ;  and  the  failure  at  Gergovia  was  caused  by  the 
revolt  of  the  ^Edui ;  and  the  manner  in  which  the  fail- 
ure at  Durazzo  was  retrieved  showed  Caesar's  greatness 
more  than  the  most  brilliant  of  his  victories.  He  was 
rash,  but  with  a  calculated  rashness  which  the  event 
never  failed  to  justify.  His  greatest  successes  were  due 
to  the  rapidity  of  his  movements,  which  brought  him 
on  the  enemy  before  they  heard  of  his  approach.  He 
traveled  sometimes  a  hundred  miles  a  day,  reading  or 
writing  in  his  carriage,  through  countries  without  roads, 

12  and  crossing  rivers  without  bridges.    No  obstacles  stopped 
him  when  he  had  a  definite  end  in  view.     In  battle  he 
sometimes  rode,  but  he  was  more  often  on  foot,  bare- 
headed, and  in  a  conspicuous  dress,  that  he  might  be  seen 
and  recogni/ed.     Again  and  again,  by  his  own  efforts,  he 
recovered  a  day  that  was  half  lost.     He  once  seized  a 
panic-stricken   standard-bearer,  turned   him   round,  and 
told  him  that  he  had  mistaken  the  direction  of  the  ene- 
my.  He  never  misled  his  army  as  to  an  enemy's  strength, 
or  if  he  misstated  their  numbers  it  was  only  to  exaggerate. 

13  In  Africa,  before  Thapsus,  when  his  officers  were  nervous 
at  the  reported  approach  of  Juba,  he  called  them  together 
and  said  briefly,  "  You  will  understand  that  within  a  day 
King  Juba  will  be  here  with  ten  legions,  thirty  thousand 
horse,  a  hundred  thousand  skirmishers,  and  three  hun- 
dred elephants.     You  are  not  to  think  or  ask  questions. 
J  tell  you  the  truth,  and  you  must  prepare  for  it.     If  any 
of  you  are  alarmed  I  shall  send  you  home." 

14  Yet  he  was  singularly  careful  of  his  soldiers.     He 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  9S 

allowed  his  legions  rest,  though  he  allowed  none  to  him- 
self. He  rarely  fought  a  battle  at  a  disadvantage.  He 
never  exposed  his  men  to  unnecessary  danger,  and  the 
loss  by  wear  and  tear  in  the  campaigns  in  Gaul  was  ex- 
ceptionably  and  even  astonishingly  slight.  When  a  gal- 
lant action  was  performed,  he  knew  by  whom  it  had  been 
done,  and  every  soldier,  however  humble,  might  feel 
assured  that  if  he  deserved  praise  he  would  have  it.  The 
army  was  Caesar's  family.  When  Sabinus  was  cut  off  he 
allowed  his  beard  to  grow,  and  he  did  not  shave  it  till 
the  disaster  was  avenged.  If  Quintus  Cicero  had  been 
his  own  child,  he  could  not  have  run  greater  personal 
risk  to  save  him  when  shut  up  at  Charleroy.  In  disci- 15 
pline  he  was  lenient  to  ordinary  faults,  and  not  careful  to 
make  curious  inquiries  into  such  things.  He  liked  his 
men  to  enjoy  themselves.  Military  mistakes  in  his  offi- 
cers, too,  he  always  endeavored  to  excuse,  never  blaming 
them  for  misfortunes  unless  there  had  been  a  defect  of 
courage  as  well  as  judgment.  Mutiny  and  desertion  only, 
he  never  overlooked.  And  thus  no  general  was  ever 
more  loved  by,  or  had  greater  power  over,  the  army  which 
served  under  him.  He  brought  the  insurgent  tenth  legion 
into  submission  by  a  single  word.  When  the  Civil  War 
began,  and  Labienus  left  him,  he  told  all  his  officers  who 
had  served  under  Pompey  that  they  were  free  to  follow 
if  they  wished.  Not  another  man  forsook  him. 

Sentonius  says  that  he  was  rapacious,  that  he  plun- 16 
dered  tribes  in  Spain  who  were  allies  of  Rome,  that  he 
pillaged  shrines  and  temples  in  Gaul,  and  destroyed 
cities  merely  for  spoil.  He  adds  a  story  which  Cicero 
would  not  have  left  untold  and  uncommented  on  if  he 
had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  hear  of  it :  that  Caesar  when 
first  consul  took  three  thousand  pounds  weight  of  gold  out 
of  the  Capitol  and  replaced  it  with  gilded  brass.  A  simi- 


96  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

lar  story  is  told  of  the  Cid  and  of  other  heroes  of  fiction 
How  came  Cicero  to  be  ignorant  of  an  act  which,  if  done 
17 at  all,  was  done  under  his  own  eyes?  When  pnetor, 
Caesar  brought  back  money  from  Spain  to  the  treasury ; 
but  he  was  never  charged  at  the  time  with  peculation  or 
oppression  there.  In  Gaul  the  war  paid  its  own  expenses : 
but  what  temples  were  there  in  Gaul  which  were  worth 
spoiling?  Of  temples  he  was,  indeed,  scrupulously  care- 
ful. Varro  had  taken  gold  from  the  Temple  of  Hercules 
at  Cadiz.  Caesar  replaced  it.  Metcllus  Scipio  had  threat- 
ened to  plunder  the  Temple  of  Diana  at  Ephesus.  Caesar 
protected  it.  In  Gaul  the  Druids  were  his  best  friends ; 
therefore  he  certainly  had  not  outraged  religion  there, 
and  the  quiet  of  the  province  during  the  Civil  War  is  a 
sufficient  answer  to  the  accusation  of  gratuitous  oppression. 

18  The  Gauls  paid  the  expenses  of  their  conquest  in  the 
prisoners  taken  in  battle,  who  were  sold  to  the  slave  mer- 
chants ;  and  this  is  the  real  blot  on  Caesar's  career.     But 
the  blot  was  not  personally  upon  Caesar,  but  upon  the  age 
in  which  he  lived.     The  great  Pomponius  Atticus  him- 
self was  a  dealer  in  human  chattels.     That  prisoners  of 
war  should  be  sold  as  slaves  was  the  law  of  the  time,  ac- 
cepted alike  by  victors  and  vanquished ;  and  the  crowds 
of  libertini  who  assisted  at  Caesar's  funeral  proved  that 
he  was  not  regarded  as  the  enemy  of  these  unfortunates, 
but  as  their  special  friend. 

19  His  leniency  to  the  Pompeian  faction  has  already  been 
spoken  of  sufficiently.     It  may  have  been  politic,  but  it 
arose  also  from  the  disposition  of  the  man.    Cruelty  origi- 
nates in  fear,  and  Caesar  was  too  indifferent  to  death  to 
fear  anything.    So  far  as  his  public  action  was  coneerned, 
he  betrayed  no  passion  save  hatred  of  injustice ;  and  he 
moved  through  life  calm  and  irresistible,  like  a  force  of 
nature. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  97 

Cicero  has  said  of  Caesar's  oratory  that  he  surpassed  20 
those  who  had  practiced  no  other  art.  His  praise  of  him 
as  a  man  of  letters  is  yet  more  delicately  and  gracefully 
emphatic.  Most  of  his  writings  are  lost,  but  there  re- 
main seven  books  of  commentaries  on  the  wars  in  Gaul 
(the  eighth  was  added  by  another  hand),  and  three  books 
upon  the  Civil  War,  containing  an  account  of  its  causes 
and  history.  Of  these  it  was  that  Cicero  said,  in  an  ad- 
mirable image,  that  fools  might  think  to  improve  on  them, 
but  that  no  wise  man  would  try  it ;  they  were  nudi  omni 
ornatu  orationis,  tanquam  veste  detractd — bare  of  orna- 
ment, the  dress  of  style  dispensed  with,  like  an  undraped 
human  figure,  perfect  in  all  its  lines  as  Nature  made  it. 
In  his  composition,  as  in  his  actions,  Caesar  is  entirely 
simple.  He  indulges  in  no  images,  no  labored  descrip-21 
tions,  no  conventional  reflections.  His  art  is  unconscious, 
as  the  highest  art  always  is.  The  actual  fact  of  things 
stands  out  as  it  really  was,  not  as  mechanically  photo- 
graphed, but  interpreted  by  the  calmest  intelligence,  and 
described  with  unexaggerated  feeling.  No  military  nar- 
rative has  approached  the  excellence  of  the  history  of  the 
war  in  Gaul.  Nothing  is  written  down  which  could  be 
dispensed  with,  nothing  important  is  left  untold,  while 
the  incidents  themselves  are  set  off  by  delicate  and  just 
observations  on  human  character.  The  story  is  rendered  22 
attractive  by  complimentary  anecdotes  of  persons,  while 
details  of  the  character  and  customs  of  an  unknown  and 
remarkable  people  show  the  attention  which  Caesar  was 
always  at  leisure  to  bestow  on  anything  which  was  worthy 
of  interest,  even  when  he  was  surrounded  with  danger 
and  difficulty.  The  books  on  the  Civil  War  have  the 
same  simplicity  and  clearness,  but  a  vein  runs  through 
them  of  strong  if  subdued  emotion.  They  contain  the 
history  of  a  great  revolution  related  by  the  principal  actor 


98  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

in  it ;  but  no  effort  can  be  traced  to  set  his  own  side  in  a 
favorable  light,  or  to  abuse  or  depreciate  his  adversaries. 

23  The  coarse  invectives  which  Cicero  poured  so  freely  upon 
those  who  differed  from  him  are  conspicuously  absent. 
Caesar  does  not  exult  over  his  triumphs  or  parade  the 
honesty  of  his  motives.     The  facts  are  left  to  tell  their 
own  story ;  and  the  gallantry  and  endurance  of  his  own 
troops  are  not  related  with  more  feeling  than  the  contrast 
between  the  confident  hopes  of  the  patrician  leaders  at 
Pharsalia  and  the  luxury  of  their  camp  with  the  over- 
whelming disaster  which  fell  upon  them.     About  himself 
and  his  own  exploits  there  is  not  one  word  of  self-compla- 
cency or  self-admiration.     In  his  writings,  as  in  his  life, 
Caesar  is  always  the  same — direct,  straightforward,  un- 
moved, save  by  occasional  tenderness,  describing  with 
unconscious  simplicity  how  the  work  which  had  been 

24  forced  upon  him  was  accomplished.     He  wrote  with  ex- 
treme rapidity  in  the  intervals  of  other  labor,  yet  there 
is  not  a  word  misplaced,  not  a  sign  of  haste  anywhere, 
save  that  the  conclusion  of  the  Gallic  war  was  left  to  be 
supplied  by  a  weaker  hand.     The  Commentaries,  as  an 
historical  narrative,  are  as  far  superior  to  any  other  Latin 
composition  of  the  kind  as  the  person  of  Caesar  himself 
stands  out  among  the  rest  of  his  contemporaries. 

25  His  other  compositions  have  perished,  in  consequence, 
perhaps,  of  the  unforgiving  republican  sentiment  which 
revived  among  men  of  letters  after  the  death  of  Augus- 
tus— which  rose  to  a  height  in  the  "  Pharsalia  "  of  Lucan 
— and  which  leaves  so  visible  a  mark  in  the  writings  of 
Tacitus  and  Suetonius.     There  was  a  book,  "  De  Analo- 
gid,"  written  by  Caesar  after  the  conference  at  Lucca, 
during  the  passage  of  the  Alps.     There  was  a  book  on 
the  Auspices,  which,  coming  from  the  head  of  the  Roman 
religion,  would  have  thrown  a  light  much  to  be  desired 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  99 

on  this  curious  subject.  In  practice  Caesar  treated  the 
auguries  with  contempt.  He  carried  his  laws  in  open 
disregard  of  them.  He  fought  his  battles  careless  whether 
the  sacred  chickens  would  eat  or  the  calves'  livers  were 
of  the  proper  color.  His  own  account  of  such  things  in 
his  capacity  of  Pontifex  would  have  had  a  singular  in- 
terest. 

From  the  time  of  his  boyhood  he  kept  a  commonplace  26 
book,  in  which  he  entered  down  any  valuable  or  witty 
sayings,  inquiring  carefully,  as  Cicero  takes  pains  to  tell 
us,  after  any  smart  observation  of  his  own.  Niebuhr 
remarks  that  no  pointed  sentences  of  Caesar's  can  have 
come  down  to  us.  Perhaps  he  had  no  gift  that  way,  and 
admired  in  others  what  he  did  not  possess. 

He  left  in  verse  "  an  account  of  the  stars " — some  27 
practical  almanac,  probably,  in  a  shape  to  be  easily  remem- 
bered ;  and  there  was  a  journal  in  verse  also,  written  on 
the  return  from  Munda.  Of  all  the  lost  writings,  how- 
ever, the  most  to  be  regretted  is  the  "  Anti-Cato."  After 
Cato's  death  Cicero  published  a  panegyric  upon  him.  To 
praise  Cato  was  to  condemn  Caesar;  and  Caesar  replied 
with  a  sketch  of  the  Martyr  of  Utica  as  he  had  himself 
known  him.  The  pamphlet,  had  it  survived,  would  have 
shown  how  far  Caesar  was  able  to  extend  the  forbearance 
so  conspicuous  in  his  other  writings  to  the  most  respect- 
able and  the  most  inveterate  of  his  enemies.  The  verdict 
of  fact  and  the  verdict  of  literature  on  the  great  contro- 
versy between  them  have  been  summed  up  in  the  memor- 
able line  of  Lucan — 

Victrix  causa  Deis  placuit,  sed  mcta  Catoni. 

Was  Cato  right,  or  were  the  gods  right  ?  Perhaps  both. 
There  is  a  legend  that  at  the  death  of  Charles  V  the  ac-  28 

cusing  angel  appeared  in  heaven  with  a  catalogue  of  deeds 

8 


100  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

which  no  advocate  could  palliate — countries  laid  desolate, 
cities  sacked  and  burned,  lists  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
women  and  children  brought  to  misery  by  the  political 
ambition  of  a  single  man.  The  evil  spirit  demanded  the 
offender's  soul,  and  it  seemed  as  if  mercy  itself  could  not 
refuse  him  the  award.  But  at  the  last  moment  the  Su- 
preme Judge  interfered.  The  Emperor,  he  said,  had 
been  sent  into  the  world  at  a  peculiar  time,  for  a  peculiar 
purpose,  and  was  not  to  be  tried  by  the  ordinary  rules. 
Titian  has  painted  the  scene  :  Charles  kneeling  before  the 
throne,  with  the  consciousness,  as  became  him,  of  human 
infirmities,  written  upon  his  countenance,  yet  neither 
afraid  nor  abject,  relying  in  absolute  faith  that  the  Judge 
of  all  mankind  would  do  right. 

20  Of  Caesar,  too,  it  may  be  said  that  he  came  into  the 
world  at  a  special  time  and  for  a  special  object.  The  old 
religions  were  dead,  from  the  pillars  of  Hercules  to  the 
Euphrates  and  the  Nile,  and  the  principles  on  which  hu- 
man society  had  been  constructed  were  dead  also.  There 
remained  of  spiritual  conviction  only  the  common  and 
human  sense  of  justice  and  morality;  and  out  of  this 
sense  some  ordered  system  of  government  had  to  be  con- 
structed under  which  quiet  men  could  live  and  labor  and 
eat  the  fruit  of  their  industry.  Under  a  rule  of  this  ma- 
terial kind  there  can  be  no  enthusiasm,  no  chivalry,  no 
saintly  aspirations,  no  patriotism  of  the  heroic  type.  It 
was  not  to  last  for  ever.  A  new  life  was  about  to  dawn 
for  mankind.  Poetry,  and  faith,  and  devotion  were  to 
spring  again  out  of  the  seeds  which  were  sleeping  in  the 

30  heart  of  humanity.  But  the  life  which  is  to  endure  grows 
slowly  ;  and  as  the  soil  must  be  prepared  before  the  wheat 
can  be  sown,  so  before  the  kingdom  of  heaven  could 
throw  up  its  shoots  there  was  needed  a  kingdom  of  this 
world  where  the  nations  were  neither  torn  in  pieces  by 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  1O1 

violence  nor  were  rushing  after  false  ideals  and  spuri- 
ous ambitions.  Such  a  kingdom  was  the  empire  of 
the  Caesars — a  kingdom  where  peaceful  men  could  work, 
think,  and  speak  as  they  pleased,  and  travel  freely  among 
provinces  ruled  for  the  most  part  by  Gallios  who  pro- 
tected life  and  property,  and  forbade  fanatics  to  tear  each 
other  in  pieces  for  their  religious  opinions.  "  It  is  not  31 
lawful  for  us  to  put  any  man  to  death,"  was  the  complaint 
of  the  Jewish  priests  to  the  Roman  governor.  Had  Eu- 
rope and  Asia  been  covered  with  independent  nations, 
each  with  a  local  religion  represented  in  its  ruling  pow- 
ers, Christianity  must  have  been  stifled  in  its  cradle.  If 
St.  Paul  had  escaped  the  Sanhedrim  at  Jerusalem,  he 
would  have  been  torn  to  pieces  by  the  silversmiths  at 
Ephesus.  The  appeal  to  Caesar's  judgment-seat  was  the 
shield  of  his  mission,  and  alone  made  possible  his  success. 

And  this  spirit,  which  confined  government  to  its  32 
simplest  duties,  while  it  left  opinion  unfettered,  was 
especially  present  in  Julius  Caesar  himself.  From  cant 
of  all  kinds  he  was  totally  free.  He  was  a  friend  of  the 
people,  but  he  indulged  in  no  enthusiasm  for  liberty. 
He  never  dilated  on  the  beauties  of  virtue,  or  compli- 
mented, as  Cicero  did,  a  Providence  in  which  he  did  not 
believe.  He  was  too  sincere  to  stoop  to  unreality.  He  33 
held  to  the  facts  of  this  life  and  to  his  own  convictions  ; 
and,  as  he  found  no  reason  for  supposing  that  there  was  a 
life  beyond  the  grave,  he  did  not  pretend  to  expect  it. 
He  respected  the  religion  of  the  Roman  State  as  an  insti- 
tution established  by  the  laws.  He  encouraged  or  left 
unmolested  the  creeds  and  practices  of  the  uncounted 
sects  or  tribes  who  were  gathered  under  the  eagles.  But 
his  own  writings  contain  nothing  to  indicate  that  he  him- 
self had  any  religious  belief  at  all.  He  saw  no  evidence 
that  the  gods  practically  interfered  in  human  affairs.  He 


102  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

never  pretended  that  Jupiter  was  on  his  side.  He 
thanked  his  soldiers  after  a  victory,  but  he  did  not  order 
"  Te  Deums  "  to  be  sung  for  it ;  and,  in  the  absence  of 
these  conventionalisms,  he  perhaps  showed  more  real  rev- 
erence than  he  could  have  displayed  by  the  freest  use  of 
the  formulas  of  pietism. 


EXECUTION   OF   MARY   STUART. 
FROUDE'S  "HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

This  is  one  of  Froude's  most  studied  attempts  at  brilliant  word- 
painting.  The  story  of  Mary  Stuart  is  a  theme  of  which  the  world 
never  grows  weary.  She  was  executed  upon  the  charge  of  conspir- 
ing against  Queen  Elizabeth,  but  the  sentiment  of  the  world  will 
always  remain  divided  as  to  her  guilt  or  innocence.  Her  memory 
seems  to  have  been  vindicated  by  subsequent  events,  as  her  son, 
James  VI,  of  Scotland,  succeeded  to  the  English  crown  upon  the 
death  of  Elizabeth,  as  James  I,  of  England,  and  the  present  house 
of  Hanover  base  their  succession  to  the  English  throne  upon  their 
descent  from  her  granddaughter,  Elizabeth.of  Bohemia.  The  stu- 
dent should  read  Miss  Strickland's  "  Lives  of  the  Queens  of  Scot- 
land," also  the  works  of  Housack  and  Melin. 

1  THE  end  had  come.     She  had  long  professed  to  ex- 
pect it,  but   the  clearest   expectation   is   not   certainty. 
The  scene  for  which  she  had  affected  to  prepare  she  was 
to  encounter  in  its  dread  reality,  and  all  her  busy  schemes, 
her  dreams  of  vengeance,  her  visions  of  a  revolution,  with 
herself  ascending  out  of  the  convulsion  and  seating  her- 
self on  her  rival's  throne — all  were  gone.    She  had  played 
deep,  and  the  dice  had  gone  against  her. 

2  Yet  in  death,  if  she  encountered  it  bravely,  victory 
was  still  possible.     Could  she  but  sustain  to  the  last  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  1OS 

character  of  a  calumniated  suppliant,  accepting  heroically 
for  God's  sake  and  her  creed's  the  concluding  stroke  of  a 
long  series  of  wrongs,  she  might  stir  a  tempest  of  indig- 
nation which,  if  it  could  not  save  herself,  might  at  least 
overwhelm  her  enemy.  Persisting,  as  she  persisted  to 
the  last,  in  denying  all  knowledge  of  Babington,  it  would 
be  affectation  to  credit  her  with  a  genuine  feeling  of 
religion ;  but  the  imperfection  of  her  motive  exalts  the 
greatness  of  her  fortitude.  To  an  impassioned  believer 
death  is  comparatively  easy. 

Her  chaplain  was  lodged  in  a  separate  part  of  the  3 
castle.  The  Commissioners,  who  were  as  anxious  that 
her  execution  should  wear  its  real  character  as  she  was 
herself,  determined  to  convert  it  into  a  martyrdom,  re- 
fused, perhaps  unwisely,  to  allow  him  access  to  her,  and 
offered  her  again  the  assistance  of  an  Anglican  dean. 
They  gave  her  an  advantage  over  them  which  she  did 
not  fail  to  use.  She  would  not  let  the  dean  come  near 
her.  She  sent  a  note  to  the  chaplain  telling  him  that 
she  had  meant  to  receive  the  sacrament,  but,  as  it  might 
not  be,  she  must  content  herself  with  a  general  confes- 
sion. She  bade  him  watch  through  the  night  and  pray 
for  her.  In  the  morning,  when  she  was  brought  out,  she 
might  perhaps  see  him,  and  receive  his  blessing  on  her 
knees.  She  supped  cheerfully,  giving  her  last  meal  with  4 
her  attendants  a  character  of  sacred  parting.  Afterward 
she  drew  aside  her  apothecary,  M.  Gorion,  and  asked 
him  if  she  might  depend  upon  his  fidelity  ;  when  he  sat- 
isfied her  that  she  might  trust  him,  she  said  she  had  a 
letter  and  two  diamonds  which  she  wished  to  send  to 
Mendoza.  He  undertook  to  melt  some  drug  and  con- 
ceal them  in  it,  where  they  would  never  be  looked  for, 
and  promised  to  deliver  them  faithfully.  One  of  the 
jewels  was  for  Mendoza  himself ;  the  other,  and  the  larg- 


104  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

5  est,  was  for  Philip.     It  was  to  be  a  sign  that  she  was  dying 
for  the  truth,  and  was  meant  also  to  bespeak  his  care 
for  her  friends   and  servants.      Every  one  of  them,  so 
far  as  she  was  able,  without  forgetting  a  name,  she  com- 
mended to  his  liberality.     Arundel,  Paget,  Morgan,  the 
Archbishop  of   Glasgow,  Westmoreland,    Throgmorton, 
the  Bishop  of  Ross,  her  two  secretaries,  the  ladies  who 
had  shared  the  trials  of  her  imprisonment — she  remem- 
bered them  all,  and  specified  the  sums  which  she  desired 

6  Philip  to  bestow  on  them.     And  as  Mary  Stuart  then 
and  throughout  her  life  never  lacked  gratitude  to  those 
who  had  been  true  to  her,  so  then,  as  always,  she  remem- 
bered her  enemies.     There  was  no  cant  about  her,  no 
unreal  talk  of  forgiveness  of  injuries.     She  bade  Gorion 
tell  Philip  it  was  her  last  prayer  that  he  should  persevere, 
notwithstanding  her  death,  in  the  invasion  of  England. 
It  was  God's  quarrel,  she  said,  and  worthy  of  his  great- 
ness ;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  conquered  it,  she  desired 
him  not  to  forget  how  she  had  been  treated  by  Cecil  and 
Leicester  and  Walsingham  ;  by  Lord  Huntingdon,  who 
had  ill-used  her  fifteen  years  before  at  Tutbury ;  by  Sir 
Amyas  Paulet  and  Secretary  Wade. 

7  Her  last  night  was  a  busy  one.     As  she  said  herself, 
there  was  much  to  be  done,  and  the  time  was  short.     A 
few  lines  to  the  King  of  France  were  dated  two  hours 
after  midnight.     They  were  to  insist  for  the  last  time 
that  she  was  innocent  of  the  conspiracy,  that  she  was  dy- 
ing for  religion,  and  for  having  asserted  her  right  to  the 
crown  ;  and  to  beg  that,  out  of  the  sum  which  he  owed 
her,  her  servants'  wages  might  be  paid,  and  masses  pro- 
vided for  her  soul.      After  this  she  slept  for  three  or 
four  hours,  then  rose,  and  with  the  most  elaborate  care 
prepared  to  encounter  the  end. 

8  At  eight  in  the  morning  the  provost-marshal  knocked 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  1OS 

at  the  outer  door  which  communicated  with  her  suite  of 
apartments.  It  was  locked,  and  no  one  answered ;  he 
went  back  in  some  trepidation  lest  the  fears  might  prove 
true  which  had  been  entertained  the  preceding  evening. 
On  his  returning  with  the  sheriff,  however,  a  few  min-9 
utes  later,  the  door  was  open,  and  they  were  confronted 
with  the  tall,  majestic  figure  of  Mary  Stuart  standing  be- 
fore them  in  splendor.  The  plain,  gray  dress  had  been 
exchanged  for  a  robe  of  black  satin  ;  her  jacket  was  of 
black  satin  also,  looped  and  slashed,  and  trimmed  with 
velvet.  Her  false  hair  was  arranged  studiously  with  a 
coif,  and  over  her  head,  and  falling  down  over  her  back, 
was  a  white  veil  of  delicate  lawn.  A  crucifix  of  gold 
hung  from  her  neck.  In  her  hand  she  held  a  crucifix  of 
ivory,  and  a  number  of  jeweled  paternosters  was  attached 
to  her  girdle.  Led  by  two  of  Paulet's  gentlemen,  the  10 
sheriff  walking  before  her,  she  passed  to  the  chamber  of 
presence  in  which  she  had  been  tried,  where  Shrewsbury, 
Kent,  Paulet,  Drury,  and  others  were  waiting  to  receive 
her.  Andrew  Melville,  Sir  Robert's  brother,  who  had 
been  master  of  her  household,  was  kneeling  in  tears. 
"  Melville,"  she  said,  "  you  should  rather  rejoice  than 
weep  that  the  end  of  my  troubles  is  come.  Tell  my 
friends  I  die  a  true  Catholic.  Commend  me  to  my  son. 
Tell  him  I  have  done  nothing  to  prejudice  his  kingdom 
of  Scotland,  and  so,  good  Melville,  farewell."  She  kissed 
him,  and  turning,  asked  for  her  chaplain,  Du  Preau.  He  11 
was  not  present.  There  had  been  a  fear  of  some  relig- 
ious melodrama  which  it  was  thought  well  to  avoid.  Her 
ladies,  who  had  attempted  to  follow  her,  had  been  kept 
back  also.  She  could  not  afford  to  leave  the  account  of 
her  death  to  be  reported  by  enemies  and  Puritans,  and 
she  required  assistance  for  the  scene  which  she  meditated. 
Missing  them,  she  asked  the  reason  of  their  absence,  and 


106  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

said  she  wished  them  to  see  her  die.  Kent  said  he  feared 
they  might  scream  or  faint,  or  attempt,  perhaps,  to  dip 
their  handkerchiefs  in  her  blood.  She  undertook  that 
they  should  be  quiet  and  obedient.  "  The  Queen,"  she 
said,  "would  never  deny  her  so  slight  a  request";  and 
when  Kent  still  hesitated  she  added,  with  tears,  "  You 
know  I  am  cousin  to  youi  Queen,  of  the  blood  of  lli-nry 
VII,  a  married  Queen  of  France,  and  anointed  Queen  of 
Scotland ! " 

12  It  was  impossible  to  refuse.     She  was  allowed  to  take 
six  of  her  own  people  with  her  and  select  them  herself. 
She  chose  her  physician  Burgoyne,  Andrew  Melville,  the 
apothecary  Gorion,  and  her  surgeon,  with  two  ladies, 
Elizabeth   Kennedy,  and   Curie's  young  wife,  Barbara 
Mowbray,  whose  child  she  had  baptized. 

13  "  Allons  done,"  she  then  said,  "  let  us  go,"  and  pass- 
ing out  attended  by  the  earls,  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
an  officer  of  the  guard,  she  descended  the  great  staiiva-e 
to  the  hall.     The  news  had  spread  far  through  the  coun- 
try.    Thousands  of  people  were  collected   outside  the 
walls.     About  three  hundred  knights  and  gentlemen  of 
the  county  had  been  admitted  to  witness  the  execution. 
The  tables  and  forms  had  been  removed,  and  a  great 

II  wood-fire  was  blazing  in  the  chimney.  At  the  upper 
end  of  the  hall,  above  the  fireplace,  but  near  it,  stood  the 
scaffold,  twelve  feet  square  and  two  feet  and  a  half  lii^li. 
It  was  covered  with  black  cloth;  a  low  rail  ran  round  it 
covered  with  black  cloth  also,  and  the  sheriff's  guard  of 
halberdiers  were  ranged  on  the  floor  below  on  the  four 
sides  to  keep  off  the  crowd.  On  the  scaffold  was  the 
block,  black  like  the  rest ;  a  square  black  cushion  was 
placed  behind  it,  and  behind  the  cushion  a  black  chair; 
on  the  right  were  two  other  chairs  for  the  earls.  The 
axe  leant  against  the  rail,  and  two  masked  figures  stood 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  1°7 

like  mutes  on  either  side  at  the  back.  The  Queen  of  15 
Scots  as  she  swept  in  seemed  as  if  coming  to  take  a  part 
in  some  solemn  pageant.  Not  a  muscle  of  her  face  could 
be  seen  to  quiver ;  she  ascended  the  scaffold  with  abso- 
lute composure,  looked  round  her  smiling,  and  sat  down. 
Shrewsbury  and  Kent  followed  and  took  their  places,  the 
sheriff  stood  at  her  left  hand,  and  Beale  then  mounted  a 
platform  and  read  the  warrant  aloud. 

In  all  the  assembly  Mary  Stuart  appeared  the  person 
least  interested  in  the  words  which  were  consigning  her 
to  death. 

"  Madam,"  said  Lord  Shrewsbury  to  her,  when  the  16 
reading  was  ended,  "you  hear  what  we  are  commanded 
to  do." 

"  You  will  do  your  duty,"  she  answered,  and  rose  as 
if  to  kneel  and  pray. 

The  Dean  of  Peterborough,  Dr.  Fletcher,  approached 
the  rail.  "  Madam,"  he  began,  with  a  low  obeisance,  "  the  • 
Queen's  most  excellent  Majesty—  "  "  Madam,  the  Queen's 
most  excellent  Majesty — "  Thrice  he  commenced  his 
sentence,  wanting  words  to  pursue  it.  When  he  re- 
peated the  words  a  fourth  time,  she  cut  him  short. 

"  Mr.  Dean,"  she  said,  "  I  am  a  Catholic,  and  must 
die  a  Catholic.  It  is  useless  to  attempt  to  move  me,  and 
your  prayers  will  avail  me  but  little." 

"  Change  your  opinion,  madam,"  he  cried,  his  tongue 
being  loosed  at  last ;  "  repent  of  your  sins,  settle  your 
faith  in  Christ,  by  him  to  be  saved." 

"  Trouble  not  yourself  further,  Mr.  Dean,"  she  an- 
swered ;  "  I  am  settled  in  my  own  faith,  for  which  I 
mean  to  shed  my  blood." 

"  I  am  sorry,  madam,"  said  Shrewsbury,  "  to  see  you 
so  addicted  to  Popery." 

"  That  image  of  Christ  you  hold  there,"  said  Kent, 


108  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

"  will   not  profit   you  if  he  be  not  engraved  in  jour 
heart." 

She  did  not  reply,  and  turning  her  back  on  Fletcher 
knelt  for  her  own  devotions. 

17  He  had  been  evidently  instructed  to  impair  the  Cath- 
olic complexion  of  the  scene,  a;.d  the  Queen  of  Scots  was 
determined  that  he  should  not  succeed.     When  she  knelt, 
he  commenced  an  extempore  prayer,  in  which  the  assem- 
bly joined.     As  his  voice  sounded  out  in  the  hall  she 
raised   her  own,   reciting  with   powerful,   deep-chested 
tones  the  penitential  psalms  in  Latin,  introducing  Eng- 
lish sentences  at  intervals,  that  the  audience  might  know 
what  she  was  saying,  and  praying  with  especial  distinct- 
ness for  her  holy  father  the  Pope. 

18  From  time  to  time,  with  conspicuous  vehemence,  she 
struck  the  crucifix  against  her  bosom,  and  then,  as  the 
Dean  gave  up  the  struggle,  leaving  her  Latin,  she  prayed 
in  English  wholly,  still  clear  and  loud.     She  prayed  for 
the  Church  which  she  had  been  ready  to  betray,  for  her 
eon  whom  she  had  disinherited,  for  the  Queen  whom  she 
had  endeavored  to  murder.     She  prayed  God  to  avert 
his  wrath  from  England — that  England  which  she  had 
sent  a  last  message  to  Philip  to  beseech  him  to  invade. 
She  forgave  her  enemies,  whom  she  had  invited  Philip 
not  to  forget,  and  then,  praying  to  the  saints  to  intercede 
for  her  with  Christ,  and  kissing  the  crucifix  and  crossing 
her  own  breast,  "  Even  as  thy  arms,  O  Jesus,"  she  cried, 
"  were  spread  upon  the  cross,  so  receive  me   into  thy 
mercy  and  forgive  my  sins." 

19  With  these  words  she  rose.     The  black  mutes  stepped 
forward,  and  in  the  usual  form  begged  her  forgiveness. 

"  I  forgive  you,"  she  said,  "  for  now  I  hope  you  shall 
end  all  my  troubles."  They  offered  their  help  in  ar- 
ranging her  dress.  "  Truly,  my  lords,"  she  said  with  a 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  1O9 

smile  to  the  earls,  "  I  never  had  such  grooms  waiting  on 
me  before."  Her  ladies  were  allowed  to  come  up  upon  the 
scaffold  to  assist  her ;  for  the  work  to  be  done  was  consid- 
erable, and  had  been  prepared  with  no  common  thought. 

She  laid  her  crucitix  on  her  chair.  The  chief  execu-  20 
tioner  took  it  as  a  perquisite,  but  was  ordered  instantly 
to  lay  it  down.  The  lawn  veil  was  lifted  carefully  off, 
not  to  disturb  the  hair,  and  was  hung  upon  the  rail.  The 
black  robe  was  next  removed.  Below  it  was  a  petticoat 
of  crimson  velvet.  The  black  jacket  followed,  and  under 
the  jacket  was  a  body  of  crimson  satin.  One  of  her  la- 
dies handed  her  a  pair  of  crimson  sleeves,  with  which 
she  hastily  covered  her  arms ;  and  thus  she  stood  on  the 
black  scaffold  with  the  black  figures  all  around  her,  blood- 
red  from  head  to  foot. 

Her  reasons  for  adopting  so  extraordinary  a  costume  21 
must  be  left  to  conjecture.     It  is  only  certain  that  it 
must  have  been  carefully  studied,  and  that  the  pictorial 
effect  must  have  been  appalling. 

The  women,  whose  firmness  had  hitherto  borne  the  22 
trial,  began  now  to  give  way,  spasmodic  sobs  bursting 
from  them  which  they  could  not  check.  "  Ne  criez 
vous,"  she  said,  "j'ay  promis  pour  vous."  Struggling 
bravely,  they  crossed  their  breasts  again  and  again,  she 
crossing  them  in  turn  and  bidding  them  pray  for  her. 
Then  she  knelt  on  the  cushion.  Barbara  Mowbray  bound 
her  eyes  with  a  handkerchief.  "  Adieu,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing for  the  last  time  and  waving  her  hand  to  them, 
"Adieu,  au  revoir."  They  stepped  back  from  off  the 
scaffold  and  left  her  alone.  On  her  knees  she  repeated  23 
the  psalm,  "  In  te,  Domine,  confido,"  "  In  thee,  O  Lord, 
have  I  put  my  trust."  Her  shoulders  being  exposed, 
two  scars  became  visible,  one  on  either  side,  and,  the 
earls  being  now  a  little  behind  her,  Kent  pointed  to 


110  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

them  with  his  white  wand  and  looked  inquiringly  at  his 
companion.  Shrewsbury  whispered  that  they  were  the 
remains  of  two  abscesses  from  which  she  had  suffered 
while  living  with  him  at  Sheffield. 

24  When  the  psalm  was  finished,  she  felt  for  the  block, 
and  laying  down  her  head,  muttered,  "  In  manus,  Domine 
tuas,  commendo  animam  meam."     The  hard  wood  seemed 
to  hurt  her,  for  she  placed  her  hands  under  her  neck. 
The  executioners  gently  removed  them,  lest  they  should 
deaden   the  blow,  and  then,  one  of  them  holding  her 

25  slightly,  the  other  raised  the  axe  and  struck.     The  scene 
had  been  too  trying  even  for  the  practiced  headsman  of 
the  Tower.     His  arm  wandered.     The  blow  fell  on  the 
knot  of  the  handkerchief,  and  scarcely  broke  the  skin. 
She  neither  spoke  nor  moved.     He  struck  again,  this 
time  effectively.     The  head  hung  by  a  shred  of  skin, 
which  he  divided  without  withdrawing  the  axe ;  and  at 
once  a  metamorphosis  was  witnessed  strange  as  was  ever 
wrought  by  wand  of  fabled  enchanter.     The  coif  fell 
off,  and  the  false  plaits.     The  labored  illusion  vanished. 
The  lady  who  had  knelt  before  the  block  was  in  the  ma- 
turity of  grace  and  loveliness.     The  executioner,  when 
he  raised  the  head,  as  usual,  to  show  it  to  the  crowd,  ex- 
posed the  withered  features  of  a  grizzled,  wrinkled  old 
woman. 

26  "  So  perish  all  enemies  of  the  Queen !  "  said  the  Dean 
of  Peterborough.     A  loud  u  Amen  !  "  rose  over  the  hall. 
"  Such  end,"  said  the  Earl  of  Kent,  rising  and  standing 
over  the  body,  "  to  the  Queen's  and  the  Gospel's  ene- 
mies!" 

27  Orders  had  been  given  that  everything  which  she  had 
worn  should  be  immediately  destroyed,  that  no  relics 
should  be  carried  off  to  work  imaginary  miracles.     Sen- 
tinels stood  at  the  doors  who  allowed  no  one  to  pass  out 


HISTORICAL  HEADINGS.  -Ill 

without  permission ;  and  after  the  first  pause,  the  earls 
still  keeping  their  places,  the  body  was  stripped.  It  then  28 
appeared  that  a  favorite  lap-dog  had  followed  its  mistress 
unperceived,  and  was  concealed  under  her  clothes ;  when 
discovered,  it  gave  a  short  cry,  and  seated  itself  between 
the  head  and  the  neck,  from  which  the  blood  was  still 
flowing.  It  was  carried  away  and  carefully  washed,  and 
then  beads,  paternoster,  handkerchief — each  particle  of 
dress  which  the  blood  had  touched — with  the  cloth  on 
the  block  and  on  the  scaffold,  was  burnt  in  the  hall  fire 
in  the  presence  of  the  crowd.  The  scaffold  itself  was  29 
next  removed ;  a  brief  account  of  the  execution  was 
drawn  up,  with  which  Henry  Talbot,  Lord  Shrewsbury's 
son,  was  sent  to  London,  and  then  every  one  was  dis- 
missed. Silence  settled  down  on  Fotheringay,  and  the 
last  scene  of  the  life  of  Mary  Stuart,  in  which  tragedy 
and  melodrama  were  so  strangely  intermingled,  was  over. 


PORTRAIT    OF    HENRY    VIM. 
FROTJDE'S  "  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

To  vindicate  the  fame  of  Henry  VIII,  and  to  reverse  all  our  con- 
ceptions of  his  character,  is  one  of  the  principal  objects  aimed  at  by 
Froude  in  his  history.  His  ingenious  and  elaborate  attempt  to 
"  make  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason  "  has  proved  a  signal 
failure.  No  artistic  delineation  or  dramatic  coloring  can  transform 
a  tyrant  into  a  hero. 

NATURE  had  been  prodigal  to  him  of  her  rarest  gifts.  1 
In  person  he  is  said  to  have  resembled  his  grandfather, 
Edward  IY,  who  was  the  handsomest  man  in  Europe. 
His  form  and  bearing  were  princely,  and  amid  the  easy 


112  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

freedom  of  his  address,  his  manner  remained  majestic. 
No  knight  in  England  could  match  him  in  the  tourna- 
ment except  the  Duke  of  Suffolk  ;  he  drew  with  ease  as 
strong  a  bow  as  was  borne  bj  any  yeoman  of  his  guard, 
and  these  powers  were  sustained  in  unfailing  vigor  by  a 
temperate  habit  and  by  constant  exercise.  Of  his  intel- 
lectual ability  we  are  not  left  to  judge  from  the  suspicious 
panegyrics  of  his  contemporaries.  His  state  papers  and 
letters  may  be  placed  by  the  side  of  those  of  Wolsey  or 
of  Cromwell,  and  they  lose  nothing  in  the  comparison. 
Though  they  are  broadly  different,  the  perception  is 
equally  clear,  the  expression  equally  powerful,  and  they 

2  breathe  throughout  an  irresistible  vigor  of  purpose.     In 
addition  to  this,  he  had  a  fine  musical  taste,  carefully  cul- 
tivated ;  he  spoke  and  wrote  in  four  languages ;  and  his 
knowledge  of  a  multitude  of  other  subjects,  with  which 
his  versatile  ability  made  him  conversant,  would  have 
formed  the  reputation  of  any  ordinary  man.     He  was 
among  the  best  physicians  of  his  age.    He  was  his  own  en- 
gineer, inventing  improvements  in  artillery,  and  new  con- 
structions in  ship-building ;  and  this  not  with  the  conde- 
scending incapacity  of  a  royal  amateur,  but  with  thorough 
workmanlike  understanding.     His  reading  was  vast,  es- 
pecially in  theology,  which  has  been  ridiculously  ascribed 
by  Lord  Herbert  to  his  father's  intention  of  educating 
him  for  the  archbishopric  of  Canterbury — as  if  the  scien- 
tific mastery  of  such  a  subject  could  have  been  acquired 
by  a  boy  of  twelve  years  of  age,  for  he  was  no  more  when 
he  became  Prince  of  Wales      He  must  have  studied  the- 
ology with  the  full  maturity  of  his  understanding ;  and 
he  had  a  fixed,  and  perhaps  unfortunate,  interest  in  the 
subject  itself. 

3  In  all  directions  of  human  activity  Henry  displayed 
natural  powers  of  the  highest  order,  at  the  highest  stretch 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  113 

of  industrious  culture.  He  was  "attentive,"  as  it  is 
called,  "  to  his  religious  duties,"  being  present  at  the  ser- 
vices in  the  chapel  two  or  three  times  a  day  with  unfail- 
ing regularity,  and  showing  to  outward  appearance  a  real 
sense  of  religious  obligation  in  the  energy  and  purity  of 
his  life.  In  private,  he  was  good-humored  and  good- 
natured.  His  letters  to  his  secretaries,  though  never  un- 
dignified, are  simple,  easy,  and  unrestrained ;  and  the 
letters  written  by  them  to  him  are  similarly  plain  and 
business-like,  as  if  the  writers  knew  that  the  person  whom 
they  were  addressing  disliked  compliments,  and  chose  to 
be  treated  as  a  man.  Again,  from  their  correspondence 
with  one  another,  when  they  describe  interviews  with 
him,  we  gather  the  same  pleasant  impression.  He  seems 
to  have  been  always  kind,  always  considerate,  inquiring 
into  their  private  concerns  with  genuine  interest,  and 
winning,  as  a  consequence,  their  warm  and  unaffected 
attachment. 

As  a  ruler,  he  had  been  eminently  popular.     All  his  4 
wars  had  been  successful.     He  had  the  splendid  tastes  in 
which  the  English  people  most  delighted,  and  he  had 
substantially  acted  out  his  own  theory  of  his  duty,  which 
was  expressed  in  the  following  words  : 

"  Scripture  taketh  princes  to  be,  as  it  were,  fathers 
and  nurses  to  their  subjects,  and  by  Scripture  it  appear- 
eth  that  it  appertaineth  unto  the  office  of  princes  to  see 
that  right  religion  and  true  doctrine  be  maintained  and 
taught,  and  that  their  subjects  may  be  well  ruled  and 
governed  by  good  and  just  laws ;  and  to  provide  and  care 
for  them  that  all  things  necessary  for  them  may  be  plen- 
teous; and  that  the  people  and  commonweal  may  in- 
crease ;  and  to  defend  them  from  oppression  and  invasion, 
as  well  within  the  realm  as  without ;  and  to  see  that  jus- 
tice be.  administered  unto  them  indifferently ;  and  to  hear 


114  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

benignly  all  their  complaints ;  and  to  shew  toward  them, 
although  they  offend,  fatherly  pity.  And,  finally,  so  to 
correct  them  that  the  evil  that  they  had,  yet  rather  save 
them  than  lose  them,  if  it  were  not  for  respect  of  justice, 
and  maintenance  of  peace  and  good  order  in  the  com- 
monweal." 

5  These  principles  do  really  appear  to  have  determined 
Henry's  conduct  in  his  earlier  years.     He  had  more  than 
once  been  tried  with  insurrection,  which  he  had  soothed 
down  without  bloodshed,  and  extinguished  in  forgive- 
ness ;  and  London  long  recollected  the  great  scene  which 
followed  "evil  May-day,"    1517,  when  the  apprentices 
were  brought  down  to  Westminster  Hall  to  receive  their 
pardons.     There  had  been  a  dangerous  riot  in  the  streets, 
which  might  have  provoked  a  mild  government  to  severi- 
ty, but  the  King  contented  himself  with  punishing  the 
five  ringleaders ;  and  four  hundred  other  prisoners,  after 
being  paraded  down  the  streets  in  white  shirts  with  hal- 
ters round  their  necks,  were  dismissed  with  an  admoni- 
tion, Wolsey  weeping  as  he  pronounced  it. 

6  It  is  certain  that,  if  he  had  died  before  the  divorce 
was  mooted,  Henry  VIII,  like  that  Roman  emperor  said 
by  Tacitus  to  have  been  consensu  omnium  dignus  imperil 
nisi  imper  asset,  would  have  been  considered  by  posterity 
as  formed  by  Providence  for  the  conduct  of  the  Reforma- 
tion, and  his  loss  would  have  been  deplored  as  a  perpetual 
calamity.     We  must  allow  him,  therefore,  the  benefit  of 
his  past  career,  and  be  careful  to  remember  it  when  in- 
terpreting his  later  actions.     Not  many  men  would  have 
borne  themselves  through  the  same  trials  with  the  same 
integrity ;  but  the  circumstances  of  those  trials  had  not 

7  tested  the  true  defects  in  his  moral  constitution.     Like 
all  princes  of  the  Plantagenet  blood,  he  was  a  person  of 
a  most  intense   and   imperious   will.     His  impulses,  in 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  US 

general,  nobly  directed,  had  never  known  contradiction ; 
and  late  in  life,  when  his  character  was  formed,  he  was 
forced  into  collision  with  difficulties  with  which  the  ex- 
perience of  discipline  had  not  fitted  him  to  contend. 
Education  had  done  much  for  him,  but  his  nature  required 
more  correction  than  his  position  had  permitted,  while 
unbroken  prosperity  and  early  independence  of  control 
had  been  his  most  serious  misfortune.  He  had  capacity, 
if  his  training  had  been  equal  to  it,  to  be  one  of  the 
greatest  of  men.  With  all  his  faults  about  him,  he  was 
still,  perhaps,  the  greatest  of  his  contemporaries,  and  the 
man  best  able  of  all  living  Englishmen  to  govern  Eng- 
land, had  he  not  been  set  to  do  it  by  the  conditions  of  his 
birth. 


CORONATION    OF   ANNE    BOLEYN. 


FBOUDE'S  "HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

The  coronation  of  Anne  Boleyn  is  another  of  Froude's  finest 
descriptive  efforts. 

Henry  VIII  of  England,  after  having  been  married  for  many 
years  to  Catharine  of  Aragon,  who  had  been  previously  married  to 
his  younger  brother,  Prince  Arthur,  was  so  fascinated  with  the 
charms  of  Anne  Boleyn  that  he  caused  himself  to  be  divorced  from 
Catharine,  upon  pretended  scruples  of  conscience  in  regard  to  his 
marriage  to  his  brother's  widow.  The  divorce  of  Henry  VIII  was, 
in  its  consequences,  one  of  the  most  important  events  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  as  it  was  one  of  the  principal  causes  that  led  to  the 
separation  of  the  English  nation  from  the  Roman  Catholic  com- 
munion. The  Pope  having  refused  to  sanction  the  divorce  of  Henry 
from  Catharine,  it  was  pronounced  by  Cranmer,  and  Anne  Boleyn 
was  publicly  acknowledged  as  Queen. 

Henry  VIII  became  the  head  of  the  Church  in  his  own  kingdom, 
and  allegiance  to  the  Pope  was  renounced.  In  a  few  years  Anne 
9 


116  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

Boleyn  was  accused  of  infidelity  to  Henry,  was  tried,  condemned, 
and  executed.  She  was  the  mother  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  (See  Miss 
Strickland's  "  Queens  of  England.") 

1  ON  the  morning  of  the  31st  of  May  the  families  of 
the  London  citizens  were   stirring  early  in  all  houses. 
From  Temple  Bar  to  the  Tower  the  streets  were  fresh 
strewed  with  gravel,  the  footpaths  were  railed  off  along 
the  whole   distance,  and  occupied  on   one  side  by  the 
guilds,  their  workmen,  and  apprentices,  on  the  other  by 
the  city  constables  and  officials  in  their  gaudy  uniforms, 
"  with  their  staves  in  hand  for  to  cause  the  people  to  keep 
good  room  and  order."    Cornhill  and  Gracechurch  Street 
had  dressed  their  fronts  in  scarlet  and  crimson,  in  arras  and 
tapestry,  and  the  rich  carpet-work  from  Persia  and  the 
East.     Cheapside,  to  outshine  her  rivals,  was  draped  even 
more  splendidly  in  cloth  of  gold  and  tissue  and  velvet. 
The   sheriffs  were   pacing  up  and   down  on  the  great 
Flemish  horses,  hung  with  liveries,  and  all  the  windows 
were  thronged  with  ladies  crowding  to  see  the  procession 

2  pass.     At  length  the  Tower  guns  opened,  the  grim  gates 
rolled  back,  and  under  the  archway  in  the  bright  May 
sunshine  the  long  column  began  slowly  to  defile.     Two 
states  only  permitted  their  representatives  to  grace  the 
scene  with  their  presence — Venice  and  France.     It  was, 
perhaps,  to  make  the  most  of  this  isolated  countenance 
that  the  French  ambassador's  train  formed  the  van  of  the 
cavalcade.     Twelve   French   knights  came  riding  fore- 
most in  surcoats  of  blue  velvet  with  sleeves  of  yellow 
silk,  their  horses  trapped  in  blue,  with  white  crosses  pow- 
dered on  their  hangings.     After  them  followed  a  troop 
of  English  gentlemen,  two  and  two,  and  then  the  Knights 
of  the  Bath,  "  in  gowns  of  violet,  with  hoods  purfled  with 
miniver  like  doctors."     Next,  perhaps  at  a  little  interval, 
the  abbots  passed  on,  mitered  in  their  robes ;  the  barons 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  117 

followed  in  crimson  velvet,  the  bishops  then,  and  then 
the  earls  and  marquises,  the  dresses  of  each  order  increas- 
ing in  elaborate  gorgeousness.  All  these  rode  on  in  pairs.  3 
Then  came  alone  Audeley,  lord-chancellor,  and  behind 
him  the  Venetian  ambassador  and  the  Archbishop  of 
York;  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  Du  Bellay, 
Bishop  of  Bayonne  and  of  Paris,  not  now  with  bugle  and 
hunting-frock,  but  solemn  with  stole  and  crozier.  Next 
the  Lord-Mayor,  with  the  city  mace  in  hand,  and  Garter 

in  his  coat-of-arms ;  and  then  Lord  William  Howard 

Belted  Will  Howard,  of  the  Scottish  Border,  Marshal  of 
England.  The  officers  of  the  Queen's  household  suc- 
ceeded the  Marshal  in  scarlet  and  gold,  and  the  van  of 
the  procession  was  closed  by  the  Duke  of  Suffolk,  as  high 
constable,  with  his  silver  wand.  It  is  no  easy  matter  to  4 
picture  to  ourselves  the  blazing  trail  of  splendor  which  in 
such  a  pageant  must  have  drawn  along  the  London 
streets — those  streets  which  now  we  know  so  black  and 
smoke-grimed,  themselves  then  radiant  with  masses  of 
color — gold  and  crimson  and  violet.  Yet  there  it  was, 
and  there  the  sun  could  shine  upon  it,  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  eyes  were  gazing  on  the  scene  out  of  the  crowded 
lattices. 

Glorious  as  the  spectacle  was,  perhaps,  however,  it  5 
passed  unheeded.  Those  ,eyes  were  watching  all  for 
another  object,  which  now  drew  near.  In  an  open  space 
behind  the  constable  there  was  seen  approaching  "  a  white 
chariot,"  drawn  by  two  palfreys  in  white  damask  which 
swept  the  ground,  a  golden  canopy  borne  above  it  making 
music  with  silver  bells ;  and  in  the  chariot  sat  the  ob- 
served of  all  observers,  the  beautiful  occasion  of  all  this 
glittering  homage ;  fortune's  plaything  of  the  hour,  the 
Queen  of  England — queen  at  last — borne  along  upon  the 
waves  of  this  sea  of  glory,  breathing  the  perfumed  in- 


118  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

cense  of  greatness  which  she  had  risked  her  fair  name, 
delicacy,  her  honor,  her  self-respect,  to  win ;  and  she  had 
won  it. 

6  There  she  sat,  dressed  in  white  tissue  robes,  her  fair 
hair  flowing  loose  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  temples 
circled  with  a  light  coronet  of  gold  and  diamonds — most 
beautiful — loveliest,  most  favored,  perhaps,  as  she  seemed 
at  that  hour,  of  all  England's  daughters.     Alas !  "  within 
the  hollow  round  "  of  that  coronet 

Kept  death  his  court,  and  there  the  antick  sate, 
Scoffing  her  state  and  grinning  at  her  pomp. 
Allowing  her  a  little  breath,  a  little  scene 
To  monarchize,  be  feared,  and  kill  with  looks, 
Infusing  her  with  self  and  vain  conceit, 
As  if  the  flesh  which  walled  about  her  life 
Were  brass  impregnable ;  and  humored  thus, 
Bored  through  her  castle  walls;  and  farewell,  Queen. 

7  Fatal  gift  of  greatness  (so  dangerous  ever),  so  more 
than  dangerous  in  these  tremendous  times  when  the  foun- 
tains are  broken  loose  of  the  great  deeps  of   thought, 
and  nations  are  in  the  throes  of  revolution  ;  when  ancient 
order  and  law  and  tradition  are  splitting  in  the  social 
earthquake ;  and  as  the  opposing  forces  wrestle  to  and 
fro,  those  unhappy  ones  who  stand  out  above  the  crowd 
become  the  symbols  of  the  struggle,  and  fall  the  victims 
of  its  alternating  fortunes.    And  what  if  into  an  unsteady 
heart  and  brain,  intoxicated  with  splendor,  the  outward 
chaos  should  find  its  way,  converting  the  poor  silly  soul 
into  an  image  of  the  same  confusion — if  conscience  should 
be  deposed  from  her  high  place,  and  the  Pandora  box  be 
broken  loose  of  passions  and  sensualities  and  follies,  and 
at  length  there   be   nothing  left  of   all  which  man  or 
woman  ought  to  value  save  hope  of  God's  forgiveness. 

8  Three  short  years  have  yet  to  pass,  and  again,  on  a 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  lid 

summer  morning,  Queen  Anne  Boleyn  will  leave  the 
Tower  of  London,  not  radiant  then  with  beauty  on  a  gay 
errand  of  coronation,  but  a  poor,  wandering  ghost,  on  a 
sad,  tragic  errand,  from  which  she  will  never  more  return, 
passing  away  out  of  an  earth  where  she  may  stay  no 
longer  into  a  presence  where,  nevertheless,  we  know 
that  all  is  well  for  all  of  us,  and  therefore  for  her. 

But  let  us  not  cloud  her  short-lived  sunshine  with  the  9 
shadow  of  the  future.  She  went  on  in  her  loveliness, 
the  peeresses  following  in  their  carriages,  with  the  royal 
guard  in  their  rear.  In  Fenchurch  Street  she  was  met 
by  the  children  of  the  city  schools,  and  at  the  corner  of 
Gracechurch  Street  a  masterpiece  had  been  prepared  of 
the  pseudo-classic  art,  then  so  fashionable,  by  the  mer- 
chants of  the  Styllyard.  A  Mount  Parnassus  had  been 
constructed,  and  a  Helican  fountain  upon  it,  playing  into 
a  basin,  with  four  jets  of  Rhenish  wine.  On  the  top  of 
the  mountain  sat  Apollo,  with  Calliope  at  his  feet,  and 
on  either  side  the  remaining  muses,  holding  lutes  or 
harps,  and  singing  each  of  them  some  "  posy "  or  epi- 
gram in  praise  of  the  Queen,  which  was  presented,  after 
it  had  been  sung,  written  in  letters  of  gold. 

From  Gracechurch  Street  the  procession  passed  to  10 
Leadenhall,  where  there  was  a  spectacle,  in  better  taste, 
of  the  old  English  Catholic  kind,  quaint,  perhaps,  and 
forced,  but  truly,  and  even  beautifully,  emblematic. 
There  was  again  a  "little  mountain,"  which  was  hung 
with  red  and  white  roses ;  a  gold  ring  was  placed  on  the 
summit,  on  which,  as  the  Queen  appeared,  a  white  falcon 
was  made  to  "  descend  as  out  of  sky  "  ;  "  and  then  incon- 
tinent came  down  an  angel,  with  great  melody,  and  set  a 
close  crown  of  gold  upon  the  falcon's  head ;  and  in  the 
same  pageant  sat  Saint  Anne,  with  all  her  issue  beneath 
her ;  and  Mary  Cleophas,  with  her  four  children,  of  the 


120  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

which  children  one  made  a  goodly  oration  to  the  Queen 
of  the  fruitfulness  of  St.  Anne,  trusting  that  like  fruit 
should  come  of  her." 

11  With  such  "pretty  conceits,"  at  that  time  the  honest 
tokens  of  an  English  welcome,  the  new  Queen  was  re- 
ceived by  the  citizens  of  London.     These  scenes  must  be 
multiplied   by  the  number  of  the  streets,  where  some 
fresh  fancy  met  her  at  every  turn.     To  preserve  the  fes- 
tivities from  flagging,  every  fountain  and  conduit  within 
the  walls  ran  all  day  with  wine ;  the  bells  of  every  steeple 
were  ringing ;  children  lay  in  wait  with  songs,  and  ladies 
with  posies,  in  which  all  the  resources  of  fantastic  ex- 
travagance were  exhausted ;  and  thus,  in  an  unbroken 
triumph — and,  to  outward  appearance,  received  with  the 
warmest  affection — she  passed  under  Temple  Bar,  down 
the  Strand,  by  Charing  Cross,  to  Westminster  Hall.    The 
King  was  not  with  her  throughout  the  day ;  nor  did  he 
intend  to  be  with  her  in  any  part  of  the  ceremony.     She 
was  to  reign  without  a  rival,  the  undisputed  sovereign  of 
the  hour. 

12  Saturday  being  passed  in  showing  herself  to  the  peo- 
ple, she  retired  for  the  night  to  "  the  King's  manor  house 
at  Westminster,"  where  she  slept.     On  the  following 
morning,  between  eight  and  nine  o'clock,  she  returned  to 
the  Hall,  where  the  Lord  Mayor,  the  City  Council,  and 
the  peers  were  again  assembled,  and  took  her  place  on  the 
high  dais  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  under  the  cloth  of  state, 
while  the  bishops,  the  abbots,  and  the   monks   of  the 
Abbey  formed  in  the  area.     A  railed  way  had  been  laid 
with  carpets  across  Palace  Yard  and  the  Sanctuary  to  the 
Abbey  gates,  and,  when  all  was  ready,  preceded  by  the 
peers  in  their  robes  of  Parliament,  and  the  Knights  of 
the  Garter  in  the  dress  of  the  order,  she  swept  out  under 
her  canopy,  the  bishops  and  the  monks  "  solemnly  sing- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  12 1 

ing.'*  The  train  was  borne  by  the  old  Duchess  of 
Norfolk,  her  aunt,  the  Bishops  of  London  and  Win- 
chester on  either  side,  "  bearing  up  the  lappets  of  her 
robe."  The  Earl  of  Oxford  carried  the  crown,  on  its 
cushion,  immediately  before  her.  She  was  dressed  in 
purple,  velvet  furred  with  ermine,  her  hair  escaping 
loose,  as  she  usually  wore  it,  under  a  wreath  of  dia- 
monds. 

On  entering  the  Abbey  she  was  led  to  the  coronation- 13 
chair,  where  she  sat,  while  the  train  fell  into  their  places, 
and  the  preliminaries  of  the  ceremonial  were  dispatched. 
Then  she  was  conducted  up  to  the  high  altar  and  an- 
nointed  Queen  of  England,  and  she  received  from  the 
hands  of  Cranmer,  fresh  come  in  haste  from  Dunstable, 
with  the  last  words  of  his  sentence  upon  Catharine 
scarcely  silent  upon  his  lips,  the  golden  scepter,  and  St. 
Edward's  crown. 

Did  any  twinge  of  remorse,  any  pang  of  painful  recol- 14 
lection,  pierce  at  that  moment  the  incense  of  glory  which 
she  was  inhaling  ?  Did  any  vision  flit  across  her  of  a 
sad,  mourning  figure  which  once  had  stood  where  she 
was  standing,  now  desolate,  neglected,  sinking  into  the 
darkening  twilight  of  a  life  cut  short  by  sorrow  ?  Who 
can  tell  ?  At  such  a  time  that  figure  would  have  weighed 
heavily  upon  a  noble  mind,  and  a  wise  mind  would  have 
been  taught  by  the  thought  of  it  that,  although  life 
be  fleeting  as  a  dream,  it  is  long  enough  to  experience 
strange  vicissitudes  of  fortune.  But  Anne  Boleyn  was 
not  noble,  and  was  not  wise ;  too  probably,  she  felt  noth- 
ing but  the  delicious,  all-absorbing,  all-intoxicating  pres- 
ent ;  and,  if  that  plain,  suffering  face  presented  itself  to  her 
memory  at  all,  we  may  fear  that  it  was  rather  as  a  foil  to 
her  own  surpassing  loveliness.  Two  years  later  she  was 
able  to  exult  over  Catharine's  death ;  she  is  not  likely  to 


122  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

have  thought  of  her  with  gentle  feelings  in  the  first  glow 
and  flush  of  triumph. 

We  may  now  leave  these  scenes.  They  concluded  in 
the  usual  English  style — with  a  banquet  in  the  great  hall, 
and  with  all  outward  signs  of  enjoyment  and  pleasure. 
There  must  have  been  but  few  persons  present,  however, 
who  did  not  feel  that  the  sunshine  of  such  a  day  might 
not  last  for  ever,  and  that  over  so  dubious  a  marriage  no 
Englishman  could  exult  with  more- than  half  a  heart.  It 
is  foolish  to  blame,  lightly,  actions  which -arise  in  the 
midst  of  circumstances  which  are,  and  can  be,  but  imper- 
fectly known,  and  there  may  have  been  political  reasons 
which  made  so  much  pomp  desirable.  Anne  Boleyn 
had  been  the  subject  of  public  conversation  for  seven 
years,  and  Henry,  no  doubt,  desired  to  present  his  jewel 
to  them  in  the  rarest  and  choicest  setting.  Yet,  to  our 
eyes,  seeing,  perhaps,  by  the  light  of  what  followed,  a 
more  modest  introduction  would  have  appeared  more 
suited  to  the  doubtful  nature  of  her  position. 


MARKETS  AND  WAGES  IN  THE  REIGN  OF  HENRY  VIM. 
FROUDE'S  "HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

Fronde  gives  us  in  this  extract  a  description  of  prices  current  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  VIII  (1509-'47).  Let  the  student  compare  them 
with  prices  current  in  our  day.  Any  successful  endeavor  to  repro- 
duce the  past  life  of  a  nation  must  exhibit  its  modes  of  daily  life,  its 
domestic  economy — what  people  ate,*  what  they  wore,  and  what 
they  paid  for  them.  This  is  in  strict  accordance  with  the  idea  of 
history  as  expounded  by  Carlyle  and  Macaulay. 

1       WHEAT,  the  price  of  which  necessarily  varied,  aver- 
aged in  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century  tenpence  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  123 

bushel,  barley  averaging  at  the  same  time  three  shillings 
the  quarter.  With  wheat  the  fluctuations  were  excessive  ; 
a  table  of  its  possible  variations  describes  it  as  ranging 
from  eighteen  pence  the  quarter  to  twenty  shillings  ;  the 
average,  however,  being  six-and-eightpence.  When  the 
price  was  above  this  sum,  the  merchants  might  import  to 
bring  it  down  ;  when  it  was  below  this  price,  the  farmers 
were  allowed  to  export  to  the  foreign  markets  ;  and  the 
same  average  continued  to  hold,  with  no  perceptible  ten- 
dency to  a  rise,  till  the  close  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth. 

Beef  and  pork  were  a  halfpenny  a  pound;  muttons 
was  three  farthings.  They  were  fixed  at  these  prices  by 
the  3d  of  the  24th  of  Henry  VIII.  But  this  act  was 
unpopular  both  with  buyers  and  with  sellers.  The  old 
practice  had  been  to  sell  in  the  gross,  and  under  that 
arrangement  the  rates  had  been  generally  lower.  Stowe 
says  :  "  It  was  this  year  enacted  that  butchers  should  sell 
their  beef  and  mutton  by  weight  —  beef  for  a  halfpenny 
the  pound,  and  mutton  for  three  farthings  ;  which  being 
devised  for  the  great  commodity  of  the  realm  —  as  it  was 
thought  —  hath  proved  far  otherwise:  for.  at  that  time 
fat  oxen  were  sold  for  six-and-twenty  shillings  and  eight- 
pence  the  piece  ;  fat  wethers  for  three  shillings  and  four- 
pence  the  piece  ;  fat  calves  at  a  like  price  ;  and  fat  lambs 
for  twelvepence.  The  butchers  of  London  sold  penny  3 
pieces  of  beef  for  the  relief  of  the  poor  —  every  piece 
two  pounds  and  a  half,  sometimes  three  pounds  for  a 
penny  ;  and  thirteen  and  sometimes  fourteen  of  these 
pieces  for  twelvepence;  mutton,  eightpence  the  quar- 
ter; and  an  hundredweight  of  beef  for  four  shillings 
and  eightpence."  The  act  was  repealed  in  consequence 
of  the  complaints  against  it,  but  the  prices  never  fell 
again  to  what  they  had  been,  although  beef,  sold  in  the 
gross,  could  still  be  had  for  a  halfpenny  a  pound  in  1570. 


R  A 

Of    THK 

TTTO'TV  PT=?  -;TTV 


124  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

4  Strong  beer,  such  as  we  now  buy  for  eighteen  pence 
a  gallon,  was  then  a  penny  a  gallon,  and  table-beer  less 
than   a  halfpenny.     French   and   German   wines  were 
eiglitpence  the  gallon ;  Spanish  and  Portuguese  wines  a 
shilling.     This  was  the  highest  price  at  which  the  best 
wines  might  be  sold,  and  if  there  was  any  fault  in  qual- 
ity or  quantity,   the   dealers   forfeited   four   times  the 
amount.     Kent,  another  important  consideration,  can  not 
be  fixed  so  accurately,  for  Parliament  did  not  interfere 
with  it.     Here,  however,  we  are  not  without  very  toler- 
able information.     "  My  father,"  says  Latimer,  "  was  a 
yeoman,  and  had  no  land  of  his  own  ;  only  he  had  a,  farm 
of  three  or  four  pounds  by  the  year  at  the  uttermost,  and 
hereupon  he  tilled  so  much  as  kept  half  a  dozen  men. 
He  had  walk  for  a  hundred  sheep,  and  my  mother  milked 
thirty  kine.     He  was  able,  and  did  find  the  King  a  har- 
ness with  himself  and  his  horse.     I  remembered  that  I 
buckled  on  his  harness  when  he  went  to  Blackheath  field. 

5  He  kept  me  to  school,  or  else  I  had  not  been  able  to 
have  preached  before  the  King's  majesty  now.     He  mar- 
ried my  sisters  with  five  pounds,  or  twenty  nobles,  each, 
having  brought  them  up  in  godliness  and  fear  of  God. 
He  kept  hospitality  for  his  poor  neighbors,  and  some 
alms  he  gave  to  the  poor ;  and  all  this  he  did  off  the  said 
farm."     If  "three  or  four  pounds  at  the  uttermost"  was 
the  rent  of  a  farm  yielding  such  results,  the  rent  of  la- 
borers' cottages  is  not  likely  to  have  been  considerable. 

6  I  am  below  the  truth,  therefore,  with  this  scale  of 
prices  in  assuming  the  penny  in  terms  of  a  laborer's  ne- 
cessities to  have  been  equal,  in  the. reign  of  Henry  VIII, 
to  the  present  shilling.     For  a  penny,  at  the  time  of 
which  I  write,  the  laborer  could  buy  more  bread,  beef, 
beer,  and  wine — he  could  do  more  toward  finding  lodg- 
ing for  himself  and  his  family — than  the  laborer  of  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  125 

nineteenth  century  for  a  shilling.  I  do  not  see  that  this 
admits  of  question.  Turning,  then,  to  the  table  of  wages,  7 
it  will  be  easy  to  ascertain  his  position.  By  the  3d  of 
the  6th  of  Henry  VIII  it  was  enacted  that  master  car- 
penters, masons,  bricklayers,  tylers,  plumbers,  glaziers, 
joiners,  and  other  employers  of  such  skilled  workmen, 
should  give  to  each  of  their  journeymen,  if  no  meat  or 
drink  was  allowed,  sixpence  a  day  for  half  the  year,  five- 
pence  a  day  for  the  other  half ;  or  fivepence  halfpenny 
for  the  yearly  average.  The  common  laborers  were  to 
receive  f ourpence  a  day  for  half  the  year ;  for  the  remain- 
ing half,  threepence.  In  the  harvest  months  they  were 
allowed  to  work  by  the  piece,  and  might  earn  consider- 
ably more ;  so  that,  in  fact — and  this  was  the  rate  at 
which  their  wages  were  usually  estimated — the  day-la- 
borer received,  on  an  average,  f  ourpence  a  day  for  the 
whole  year.  Nor  was  he  in  danger,  except  by  his  own  3 
fault  or  by  unusual  accident,  of  being  thrown  out  of  em- 
ploy ;  for  he  was  engaged  by  contract  for  not  less  than  a 
year,  and  could  not  be  dismissed  before  his  term  had 
expired,  unless  some  gross  misconduct  could  be  proved 
against  him  before  two  magistrates.  Allowing  a  deduc- 
tion of  one  day  in  the  week  for  a  saint's  day  or  a  holiday, 
he  received,  therefore,  steadily  and  regularly,  if  well-con- 
ducted, an  equivalent  of  twenty  shillings  a  week— twenty 
shillings  a  week  and  a  holiday  ;  and  this  is  far  from 
being  a  full  account  of  his  advantages.  In  most  par- 9 
ishes,  if  not  in  all,  there  were  large  ranges  of  common 
and  uninclosed  forest-land,  which  furnished  his  fuel  to 
him  gratis,  where  pigs  might  range,  and  ducks  and 
geese ;  where,  if  he  could  afford  a  cow,  he  was  in  no 
danger  of  being  unable  to  feed  it ;  and  so  important  was 
this  privilege  considered  that,  when  the  commons  began 
to  be  largely  inclosed,  Parliament  insisted  that  the  work- 


126  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ingman  should  not  be  without  some  piece  of  ground  on 
which  he  could  employ  his  own  and  his  family's  indus- 
try. By  the  7th  of  the  31st  of  Elizabeth  it  was  ordered 
that  no  cottage  should  be  built  for  residence  without  four 
acres  of  land  at  lowest  being  attached  to  it  for  the  sole 
use  of  the  occupants  of  such  cottage. 


THE    LAST  YEARS  OF  QUEEN    ELIZABETH. 
FEOUDE'S  "HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

Onr  last  extract  from  Froude  is  his  estimate  of  the  character  of 
Queen  Elizabeth.  Hume's  and  Green, s  estimates  should  be  com- 
pared with  this.  Elizabeth's  reign  (1558-1603)  is  a  great  central 
point  in  English  history.  The  most  splendid  triumphs  of  our 
tongue  were  achieved  in  her  time,  and  in  that  of  her  successor, 
James  I  (1603-1625).  The  political  importance  of  this  era  is  scarce- 
ly inferior  to  its  literary  importance.  The  great  issues  involved  in 
Puritanism  began  to  take  definite  form  in  her  reign,  as  well  as 
those  momentous  political  issues  whose  settlement  was  not  accom- 
plished until  the  constitutional  revolution  of  1688.  In  the  age  of 
Elizabeth  and  James  I  the  earliest  English  settlements  were  made 
in  the  present  territory  of  the  United  States — Roanoke  Island,  James- 
town, Plymouth — so  that  the  era  of  those  two  sovereigns  is  most 
intimately  linked  to  the  history  of  our  own  country.  Elizabeth 
was  the  daughter  of  Henry  VIII  and  Anne  Boleyn,  his  second  wife. 
What  kin  was  she  (Elizabeth)  to  Mary  Stuart?  Among  the  illus- 
trious names  of  Elizabeth's  and  James's  time  may  be  mentioned 
Sir  Francis  Bacon,  Shakespeare,  Spenser,  Jonson,  Hooker,  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Sir  Edward  Coke,  the  Earl  of 
Essex,  Walsingham,  and  Burleigh. 

1  IN  fighting  out  her  long  quarrel  with  Spain  her  con- 
cluding years  passed  away.  The  great  men  who  had 
upheld  the  throne  in  the  days  of  her  peril  dropped  one 
by  one  into  the  grave.  Walsingham  died  soon  after  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  127 

defeat  of  the  Armada,  ruined  in  fortune,  and  weary  of 
his  ungrateful  service.  Hunsdon,  Knollys,  Burghley, 
Drake,  followed  at  brief  intervals,  and  their  mistress  was 
left  by  herself,  standing,  as  it  seemed,  on  the  pinnacle  of 
earthly  glory,  yet  in  all  the  loneliness  of  greatness,  and 
unable  to  enjoy  the  honors  which  Burghley's  policy  had 
won  for  her.  The  first  place  among  the  Protestant  pow- 
ers, which  had  been  so  often  offered  her  and  so  often 
refused,  had  been  forced  upon  her  in  spite  of  herself. 
"  She  was  Head  of  the  Name,"  but  it  gave  her  no  pleas- 
ure. She  was  the  last  of  her  race.  No  Tudor  would 
sit  again  on  the  English  throne.  Her  own  sad  prophecy  2 
was  fulfilled,  and  she  lived  to  see  those  whom  she  most 
trusted  turning  their  eyes  to  the  rising  sun.  Old  age  was 
coming  upon  her,  bringing  with  it,  perhaps,  a  conscious- 
ness of  failing  faculties;  and  solitary  in  the  midst  of 
splendor,  and  friendless  among  the  circle  of  adorers  who 
swore  they  lived  but  in  her  presence,  she  grew  weary  of 
a  life  which  had  ceased  to  interest  her.  Sickening  of  a 
vague  disease,  she  sought  no  help  from  medicine,  and 
finally  refused  to  take  food.  She  could  not  rest  in  her 
bed,  but  sate  silent  on  cushions,  staring  into  vacancy  with 
fixed  and  stony  eyes,  and  so  at  last  she  died. 

Her  character  I  have  left  to  be  gathered  from  her  3 
actions,  from  her  letters,  from  the  communications  be- 
tween herself  and  her  ministers,  and  from  the  opinions 
expressed  freely  to  one  another  in  private  by  those  min- 
isters themselves.  The  many  persons  with  whom  she  was 
brought  into  confidential  relations  during  her  long  reign 
noted  down  what  she  said  to  them,  and  her  words  have 
been  brought  up  in  judgment  against  her ;  and  there  have 
been  extremely  few  men  and  women  in  this  world  whose 
lives  would  bear  so  close  a  scrutiny,  or  who  could  look 
forward  to  being  subjected  to  it  without  shame  and  dis- 


128  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

4  may.     The  mean  thoughts  which  cross  the  minds  and  at 
one  time  or  other  escape  from  the  lips  of  most  of  us,  were 
observed  and  remembered  when  proceeding  from   the 
mouth  of  a  sovereign,  and  rise  like  accusing  spirits  in 
authentic  frightfulness  out   of  the   private  drawers   of 
statesmen's  cabinets.     Common  persons  are  sheltered  by 
obscurity ;  the  largest  portion  of  their  faults  they  forget 
themselves,  and  others  do  not  care  to  recollect;  while 
kings  and  queens  are  at  once  refused  the  ordinary  allow- 
ances for  human  weakness,  and  pay  for  their  great  place 
in  life  by  a  trial  before  posterity  more  severe,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  than  awaits  us  all  at  the  final  Judgment  bar. 

5  This,  too,  ought  to  be  borne  in  mind — that  sovereigns, 
when  circumstances  become  embarrassing,  may  not,  like 
unvalued  persons,  stand  aside  and  leave  others  to  deal 
with  them.     Subjects  are  allowed   to   decline  responsi- 
bility, to  refuse  to  undertake  work  which  they  dislike,  or  to 
lay  down  at  any  time  a  burden  which  they  find  too  heavy 
for  them.     Princes  born  to  govern  find  their  duties  cling 
to  them  as  their  shadows.     Abdication  is  often  practically 
impossible.     Every  day  they  must  do  some  act  or  form 
some  decision  from  which  consequences  follow  of  infinite 
moment.     They  would  gladly  do  nothing  if  they  might, 
but  it  is  not  permitted  to  them.     They  are  denied  the 
alternative  of  inaction,  which  is  so  often  the  best  safe- 
guard against  doing  wrong. 

6  Elizabeth's  situation  was  from  the  very  first  extreme- 
ly trying.     She  had  few  relations,  none  of  any  weight  in 
the  state,  and  those  whom  like  Hunsdon  and  Sir  Francis 
Knollys  she  took  into  her  Cabinet,  derived  their  great- 
ness from  herself.     Her  unlucky,  it  may  be  almost  called 
culpable,  attachment  to  Leicester  made  marriage  uncon- 
querably distasteful  to  her,  and  her  disappointment  gave 
an  additional  twist  to  her  natural  eccentricities.     Circum- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  129 

stances  more  than  choice  threw  her  originally  on  the  side 
of  the  Eef  ormation ;  and  when  she  told  the  Spanish  am- 
bassadors that  she  had  been  forced  into  the  separation  from 
the  Papacy  against  her  will,  she  probably  spoke  but  the 
truth.  She  was  identified  in  her  birth  with  the  cause  of  7 
independence.  The  first  battle  had  been  fought  over  her 
cradle,  and  her  right  to  be  on  the  throne  turned  morally, 
if  not  in  law,  on  the  legitimacy  of  Queen  Catherine's 
divorce.  Her  sister  persecuted  her  as  the  child  of  the 
woman  who  had  caused  her  mother  so  much  misery,  and 
her  friends,  therefore,  had  naturally  been  those  who  were 
most  her  sister's  enemies.  She  could  not  have  submitted 
to  the  Pope  without  condemning  her  father,  or  admitting 
a  taint  upon  her  own  birth,  while  in  Mary  of  Scotland 
she  had  a  rival  ready  to  take  advantage  of  any  concession 
which  she  might  be  tempted  to  make. 

For  these  reasons,  and  not  from  any  sympathy  with 
the  views  either  of  Luther  or  Calvin,  she  chose  her  party 
at  her  accession.  She  found  herself  compelled  against  8 
her  will  to  become  the  patron  of  heretics  and  rebels,  in 
whose  objects  she  had  no  interest,  and  in  whose  theology 
she  had  no  belief.  She  resented  the  necessity  while  she 
submitted  to  it,  and  her  vacillations  are  explained  by  the 
reluctance  with  which  each  successive  step  was  forced 
upon  her,  on  a  road  which  she  detested.  It  would  have 
been  easy  for  a  Protestant  to  be  decided.  It  would  have 
been  easy  for  a  Catholic  to  be  decided.  To  Elizabeth 
the  speculations  of  so-called  divines  were  but  as  ropes  of 
sand  and  sea-slime  leading  to  the  moon,  and  the  doctrines  - 
for  which  they  were  rending  each  other  to  pieces  a  dream 
of  fools  or  enthusiasts.  Unfortunately  her  keenness  of 
insight  was  not  combined  with  any  profound  concern  for 
serious  things.  She  saw  through  the  emptiness  of  the  9 
forms  in  which  religion  presented  itself  to  the  world. 


130  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

She  had  none  the  more  any  larger  or  deeper  conviction 
of  her  own.  She  was  without  the  intellectual  emotions 
which  give  human  character  its  consistency  and  power. 
One  moral  quality  she  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree ; 
she  was  supremely  brave.  For  thirty  years  she  was  per- 
petually a  mark  for  assassination  ;  her  spirits  were  never 
affected,  and  she  was  never  frightened  into  cruelty.  She 
had  a  proper  contempt  also  for  idle  luxury  and  indul- 
gence. She  lived  simply,  worked  hard,  and  ruled  her 

10  household  with  rigid  economy.  But  her  vanity  was  as 
insatiable  as  it  was  commonplace.  No  flattery  was  too 
tawdry  to  find  a  welcome  with  her,  and,  as  she  had  no  re- 
pugnance to  false  words  in  others,  she  was  equally  liberal 
of  them  herself.  Her  entire  nature  was  saturated  with 
artifice.  Except  when  speaking  some  round  untruth, 
Elizabeth  never  could  be  simple.  Her  letters  and  her 
speeches  were  as  fantastic  as  her  dress,  and  her  meaning 
as  involved  as  her  policy.  She  was  unnatural  even  in 
her  prayers,  and  she  carried  her  affectations  into  the  pres- 

llence  of  the  Almighty.  She  might  doubt  legitimately 
whether  she  ought  to  assist  an  Earl  of  Murray  or  a  Prince 
of  Orange  when  in  arms  against  their  sovereign ;  but  her 
scruples  extended  only  to  the  fulfillment  of  her  promises 
of  support,  when  she  had  herself  tempted  them  into  in- 
surrection. Obligations  of  honor  were  not  only  occasion- 
ally forgotten  by  her,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  understand 
what  honor  meant. 

12  Yain  as  she  was  of  her  own  sagacity,  she  never  modi- 
fied a  course  recommended  to  her  by  Burghley  without 
injury  both  to  the  realm  and  to  herself.  She  never  chose 
an  opposite  course  without  plunging  into  embarrassments, 
from  which  his  skill  and  Walsingham's  were  barely  able 
to  extricate  her.  The  great  results  of  her  reign  were  the 
fruits  of  a  policy  which  was  not  her  own,  and  which  she 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  131 

starved  and   mutilated  when  energy  and  completeness 
were  needed. 

That  she  pushed  no  question  to  extremities,  that,  for  13 
instance,  she  refused  to  allow  the  succession  to  the 
crown  to  be  determined,  and  permitted  the  Catholics 
to  expect  the  accession  of  the  Queen  of  Scots,  has  been 
interpreted  by  the  result  into  wisdom.  She  gained  time 
by  it,  and  her  hardest  problems  were  those  which  time 
alone  could  resolve  satisfactorily.  But  the  fortune  which 
stood  her  friend  so  often  never  served  her  better  than  in 
lengthening  her  life  into  old  age.  Had  the  Queen  of 
Scots  survived  her,  her  legacy  to  England  would  have 
been  a  desperate  and  dreadful  civil  war,  and  her  reluc- 
tance was  no  result  of  any  far-sighted  or  generous  calcula- 
tion. She  wished  only  to  reign  in  quiet  till  her  death, 
and  was  contented  to  leave  the  next  generation  to  settle 
its  own  difficulties.  Her  tenderness  toward  conspirators  14 
was  as  remarkable  as  it  was  hitherto  unexampled ;  but 
her  unwillingness  to  shed  blood  extended  only  to  high- 
born traitors.  Unlike  her  father,  who  ever  struck  the 
leaders  and  spared  the  followers,  Elizabeth  could  rarely 
bring  herself  to  sign  the  death-warrant  of  a  nobleman ; 
yet  without  compunction  she  could  order  Yorkshire  peas- 
ants to  be  hung  in  scores  by  martial  law.  Mercy  was  the 
quality  with  which  she  was  most  eager  to  be  credited. 
She  delighted  in  popularity  with  the  multitude,  and 
studied  the  conditions  of  it ;  but  she  uttered  no  word  of 
blame ;  she  rather  thanked  the  perpetrators  for  good  ser- 
vice done  to  the  commonwealth  when  Essex  sent  in  his 
report  of  the  women  and  children  who  were  stabbed  in 
the  caves  of  Rathlin.  She  was  remorseless  when  she  15 
ought  to  have  been  most  forbearing,  and  lenient  when 
she  ought  to  have  been  stern ;  and  she  owed  her  safety 
and  her  success  to  the  incapacity  and  the  divisions  of  her 
10 


132  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

enemies  rather  than  to  wisdom  and  resolution  of  her 
own.  Time  was  her  friend,  time  and  the  weakness  of 
Philip;  and  the  fairest  feature  in  her  history,  the  one 
relation  in  which  from  first  to  last  she  showed  sustained 
and  generous  feeling,  is  that  whicli  the  perversity  of  his- 
tory has  selected  as  the  blot  on  her  escutcheon.  Beyond 
and  beside  the  political  causes  which  influenced  Eliza- 
beth's attitude  toward  the  Queen  of  Scots,  true  human 
pity,  true  kindness,  a  true  desire  to  save  her  from  herself, 

16  had  a  real  place.  From  the  day  of  Mary  Stuart's  mar- 
riage with  Francis  II,  the  English  throne  was  the  dream 
of  her  imagination,  and  the  means  to  arrive  at  it  her  un- 
ceasing practical  study.  Any  contemporary  European 
sovereign,  any  English  sovereign  in  an  earlier  age,  would 
have  deemed  no  means  unjustifiable  to  remove  so  perilous 
a  rival.  How  it  would  have  fared  with  her  after  she 
came  to  England,  the  fate  of  Edward  II,  of  Eichard,  of 
Henry  YI,  of  the  Princes  in  the  Tower,  and,  later  yet,  of 
the  unhappy  son  of  the  unhappy  Clarence,  might  tell. 
"Whatever  might  have  been  the  indirect  advantage  of 
Mary  Stuart's  prospective  title,  the  danger  from  her  pres- 

17ence  in  the  realm  must  have  infinitely  exceeded  it.  She 
was  "  the  bosom  serpent,"  "  the  thorn  in  the  flesh,"  which 
could  not  be  plucked  out ;  and  after  the  Rebellion  of  the 
North,  and  the  discovery  of  the  Ridolfi  Conspiracy,  neither 
Philip  nor  Alva  expected  that  she  would  be  permitted  to 
survive.  It  seems  as  if  Elizabeth,  remembering  her  own 
danger  in  her  sister's  lifetime,  had  studied  to  show  an  elabo- 
rate tenderness  to  a  person  who  was  in  the  same  relation  to 
herself.  From  the  beginning  to  the  end  no  trace  can  be 
found  of  personal  animosity  on  the  part  of  Elizabeth ;  on  the 
part  of  Mary,  no  trace  of  anything  save  the  fiercest  hatred. 

18  But  this,  like  all  other  questions  connected  with  the 
Virgin  Queen,  should  be  rather  studied  in  her  actions 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  133 

than  in  the  opinion  of  the  historian  who  relates  them. 
Actions  and  words  are  carved  upon  eternity.  Opinions 
are  but  forms  of  cloud  created  by  the  prevailing  currents 
of  the  moral  air.  Princes,  who  are  credited  on  the 
wrong  side  with  the  evils  which  happen  in  their  reigns, 
have  a  right  in  equity  to  the  honor  of  the  good.  Many 
problems  growing  out  of  Elizabeth's  reign  were  left  un- 
settled. Some  were  disposed  of  on  the  scaffold  at  White- 
hall, some  in  the  revolution  of  1688 ;  some  yet  survive 
to  test  the  courage  and  the  ingenuity  of  modern  politicians. 
But  the  worst  legacy  which  princes  or  statesmen  could 
bequeath  to  their  country  would  be  the  resolution  of  all 
its  perplexities,  the  establishment  once  and  for  ever  of  a 
finished  system,  which  would  neither  require  nor  tolerate 
improvement. 


THE  AGE  OF  ELIZABETH.— SOCIAL  LIFE  AND  DOMES- 
TIC COMFORT  IN   HER  REIGN. 


HISTORY    OF    THE   ENGLISH   PEOPLE. 


Mr.  Green  here  gives  us  a  graphic  picture  of  English  home  life 
in  Elizabethan  times.  As  we  have  endeavored  to  impress  upon  the 
student,  all  such  descriptions  are  of  the  very  essence  of  history.  In 
the  growth  of  domestic  comfort  the  growth  of  the  great  mass  of  the 
people  can  be  clearly  traced. 

WHAT  Elizabeth  really  contributed  to  commercial  de- 1 
velopment  was  the  peace  and  social  order  from  which  it 
sprang,  and  the  thrift  which  spared  the  purses  of  her 
subjects  by  enabling  her  to  content  herself  with  the  or- 
dinary resources  of  the  Crown.  She  lent,  too,  a  ready 
patronage  to  the  new  commerce,  she  shared  in  its  specu- 
lations, she  considered  its  extension  and  protection  as  a 
part  of  public  policy,  and  she  sanctioned  the  formation  of 


134  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

the  great  merchant  companies  which  could  then  alone 
secure  the  trader  against  wrong  or  injustice  in  distant 
countries.  The  Merchant- Ad  venturers  of  London,  a  body 
which  had  existed  long  before,  and  had  received  a  char- 
ter of  incorporation  under  Henry  VII,  furnished  a  model 
for  the  Russian  Company  and  the  company  which  ab- 

Ssorbed  the  new  commerce  to  the  Indies.  But  it  was 
not  wholly  with  satisfaction  that  either  Elizabeth  or  her 
ministers  watched  the  social  change  which  wealth  was 
producing  around  them.  They  feared  the  increased  ex- 
penditure and  comfort  which  necessarily  followed  it  as 
likely  to  impoverish  the  land  and  to  eat  out  the  hardi- 
hood of  the  people.  "  England  spendeth  more  on  wines 
in  one  year,"  complained  Cecil,  "  than  it  did  in  ancient 
times  in  four  years."  The  disuse  of  salt  fish  and  the 
greater  consumption  of  meat  marked  the  improvement 
which  was  taking  place  among  the  agricultural  classes. 
Their  rough  and  wattled  farm-houses  were  being  super- 
seded by  dwellings  of  brick  and  stone.  Pewter  was  re- 
placing the  wooden  trenchers  of  the  earlier  yeomanry ; 
there  were  yeomen  who  could  boast  of  a  fair  show  of  sil- 

3  ver  plate.  It  is  from  this  period,  indeed,  that  we  can 
first  date  the  rise  of  a  conception  which  seems  to  us  now 
a  peculiarly  English  one — the  conception  of  domestic 
comfort.  The  chimney-corner,  so  closely  associated  with 
family  life,  came  into  existence  with  the  general  intro- 
duction of  chimneys,  a  feature  rare  in  ordinary  houses  at 
the  beginning  of  this  reign.  Pillows,  which  had  before 
been  despised  by  the  farmer  and  the  trader  as  fit  only  "  for 
women  in  delicate  health,"  were  now  in  general  use. 
Carpets  superseded  the  filthy  flooring  of  rushes.  The 
lofty  houses  of  the  wealthier  merchants,  their  parapeted 
fronts,  their  costly  wainscoting,  the  cumbrous  but  elabo- 
rate beds,  the  carved  staircases,  the  quaintly-figured  ga- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  135 

bles,  not  only  broke  the  mean  appearance  which  had  till 
then  characterized  English  towns,  but  marked  the  rise  of 
a  new  middle  and  commercial  class  which  was  to  play  its 
part  in  later  history.  A  transformation  of  an  even  more  4 
striking  kind  proclaimed  the  extinction  of  the  feudal 
character  of  the  noblesse.  Gloomy  walls  and  serried  bat- 
tlements disappeared  from  the  dwellings  of  the  gentry. 
The  strength  of  the  mediaeval  fortress  gave  way  to  the 
pomp  and  grace  of  the  Elizabethan  hall ;  Knowle,  Long- 
leat,  Burleigh  and  Hatfield,  Hardwick  and  Audley  End, 
are  familiar  instances  of  the  social  as  well  as  architectu- 
ral change  which  covered  England  with  buildings  where 
the  thought  of  defense  was  abandoned  for  that  of  domes- 
tic comfort  and  refinement.  We  still  gaze  with  pleasure 
on  their  picturesque  line  of  gables,  their  fretted  fronts, 
their  gilded  turrets  and  fanciful  vanes,  their  castellated 
gateways,  the  jutting  oriels  from  which  the  great  noble 
looked  down  on  his  new  Italian  garden,  its  stately  ter- 
races and  broad  flights  of  steps,  its  vases  and  fountains, 
its  quaint  mazes,  its  formal  walks,  its  lines  of  yews  cut 
into  grotesque  shapes  in  hopeless  rivalry  of  the  cypress 
avenues  of  the  South.  It  was  the  Italian  refinement  of  5 
life  which  remodeled  the  interior  of  such  houses,  raised 
the  principal  apartments  to  an  upper  floor — a  change  to 
which  we  owe  the  gravid  staircases  of  the  time — sur- 
rounded the  quiet  courts  by  long  "galleries  of  the  pres- 
ence," crowned  the  rude  hearth  with  huge  chimney- 
pieces  adorned  with  fauns  and  cupids,  with  quaintly 
interlaced  monograms  and  fantastic  arabesques,  hung  ta- 
pestries on  the  walls,  and  crowded  each  chamber  with 
quaintly-carved  chairs  and  costly  cabinets.  The  life  of 
the  Middle  Ages  concentrated  itself  in  the  vast  castle 
hall,  where  the  baron  looked  from  his  upper  dais  on  the 
retainers  who  gathered  at  his  board.  But  the  great  6 


136  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

households  were  fast  breaking  up  ;  and  the  whole  feudal 
economy  disappeared  when  the  lord  of  the  household 
withdrew  with  his  family  into  his  "  parlour  "  or  '•  with- 
drawing-room,"  and  left  the  hall  to  his  dependents.  He 
no  longer  rode  at  the  head  of  his  servants,  but  sat  apart 
in  the  newly-introduced  "  coach."  The  prodigal  use  of 
glass  became  a  marked  feature  in  the  domestic  architec- 
ture of  the  time,  and  one  whose  influence  on  the  general 
health  of  the  people  can  hardly  be  over-estimated.  Long 
lines  of  windows  stretched  over  the  fronts  of  the  new 
manor  halls.  Every  merchant's  house  had  its  oriel. 
"You  shall  have  sometimes,"  Lord  Bacon  grumbled, 
"  your  houses  so  full  of  glass  that  we  can  not  tell  where 

7  to  come  to  be  out  of  the  sun  or  the  cold."  But  the 
prodigal  enjoyment  of  light  and  sunshine  was  a  mark  of 
the  temper  of  the  age.  The  lavishness  of  a  new  wealth 
united  with  a  lavishness  of  life,  a  love  of  beauty,  of  color, 
of  display,  to  revolutionize  English  dress.  The  Queen's 
three  thousand  robes  were  rivaled  in  their  bravery  by 
the  slashed  velvets,  the  ruffs,  the  jeweled  purpoints  of 
the  courtiers  around  her.  Men  u  wore  a  manor  on  their 
backs."  The  old  sober  notions  of  thrift  melted  before 
the  strange  revolutions  of  fortune  wrought  by  the  New 
World.  Gallants  gambled  away  a  fortune  at  a  sitting, 
and  sailed  off  to  make  a  fresh  one  in  the  Indies.  Visions 
of  galleons  loaded  to  the  brim  with  pearls  and  diamonds 
and  ingots  of  silver,  dreams  of  El  Dorados,  where  all  was 
of  gold,  threw  a  haze  of  prodigality  and  profusion  over 

$the  imagination  of  the  meanest  seaman.  The  wonders, 
too,  of  the  New  World  kindled  a  burst  of  extravagant 
fancy  in  the  Old.  The  strange  medley  of  past  and  pres- 
ent wThich  distinguishes  its  masques  and  feasting  only 
reflected  the  medley  of  men's  thoughts.  Pedantry,  nov- 
elty, the  allegory  of  Italy,  the  chivalry  of  the  Middle 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  137 

Ages,  the  mythology  of  Kome,  the  English  hear-fight, 
pastorals,  superstition,  farce — all  took  their  turn  in  the 
entertainment  which  Lord  Leicester  provided  for  the 
Queen  at  Kenilworth.  A  "  wild  man  "  from  the  Indies 
chanted  her  praises,  and  Echo  answered  him.  Elizabeth 
turned  from  the  greetings  of  sibyls  and  giants  to  deliver 
the  enchanted  lady  from  her  tyrant  "  Sans  Pitie."  Shep- 
herdesses welcomed  her  with  carols  of  the  spring,  while 
Ceres  and  Bacchus  poured  their  corn  and  grapes  at  her 
feet. 


SKETCH  OF  THE  EMPEROR  CHARLEMAGNE.— HIS 
MODE  OF  LIFE.— HIS  INFLUENCE  UPON  SUBSE- 
QUENT HISTORY. 

GUIZOT'S  "HISTOEY  OF  FBANOE." 

The  empire  of  Charlemagne  was  a  grand  attempt  to  revive,  in 
another  form,  the  Imperialism  of  ancient  Rome.  The  German 
emperors  were  regarded  as  the  lawful  successors  of  the  Roman 
Cassars.  A  proper  conception  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  in  which 
the  Pope  exercised  jurisdiction  over  the  spiritual  world,  as  the 
Emperor  did  over  the  temporal  world,  is  necessary  to  the  thorough 
understanding  of  mediaeval  history.  The  empire  of  Charlemagne 
was  an  endeavor  to  fuse  into  harmony  the  Romance  and  Teutonic 
elements  of  society,  and  to  establish  a  government  of  law  and  order. 
The  time  had  not  come,  however,  and  the  empire  of  Charlemagne 
fell  to  pieces  in  the  hands  of  his  feeble  successors.  Charlemagne's 
efforts  to  promote  learning  and  education  should  be  compared  with 
the  labors  of  Alfred  the  Great  in  the  same  direction.  (See  Milman's 
"History  of  Latin  Christianity";  Bryce's  "  Holy  Roman  Empire"; 
Freeman's  "  Historical  Essays.") 

AFTER  so  much  of  war  and  toil  at  a  distance,  Charle- 1 
magne  was  now  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  finding  rest  in  this 
work  of  peaceful  civilization.     He  was  embellishing  the 


138  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

capital  which  he  had  founded,  and  which  was  called 
the  King's  court.  He  had  built  there  a  grand  basilica, 
magnificently  adorned.  He  was  completing  his  own 
palace  there.  He  fetched  from  Italy  clerics  skilled  in 
church  music,  a  pious  joyance  to  which  he  was  much  de- 
voted, and  which  he  recommended  to  the  bishops  of  his 
empire.  In  the  outskirts  of  Aix-la-Chapelle  "he  gave 
full  scope,"  said  Eginhard,  "  to  his  delight  in  riding  and 
hunting.  Baths  of  naturally  tepid  water  gave  him  great 
pleasure.  Being  passionately  fond  of  swimming,  he  be- 
came so  dexterous  that  none  could  be  compared  with  him. 
He  invited  not  only  his  sons,  but  also  his  friends,  the 
grandees  of  his  court,  and  sometimes  even  the  soldiers  of 
his  guard,  to  bathe  with  him,  insomuch  that  there  were 
often  a  hundred  and  more  persons  bathing  at  a  time. 

2  When  age  arrived,  he  made  no  alteration  in  his  bodily 
habits ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  instead  of  putting  away 
from  him  the  thought  of  death,  he  was  much  taken  up 
with  it,  and  prepared  himself  for  it  with  stern  severity. 
He  drew  up,  modified,  and  completed  his  will  several 
times  over.     Three  years  before  his  death  he  made  out 
the  distribution  of  his  treasures,  his   money,  his  ward- 
robe, and  all  his  furniture,  in  the  presence  of  his  friends 
and  his  officers,  in  order  that  their  voice  might  insure, 
after  his  death,  the  execution  of  this  partition,  and  he  set 
down  his  intentions,  in  this  respect,  in  a  written  summary, 
in  which  he  massed  all  his  riches  in  three  grand  lots. 

3  The  first  two  were  divided  into  twenty-one  portions, 
which  were  to  be   distributed  among  the   twenty-one 
metropolitan  churches  of  his  empire.     After  having  put 
these  first  two  lots  under  seal,  he  willed  to  preserve  to 
himself  his  usual  enjoyment  of  the  third  so  long  as  he 
lived.     But,  after  his  death  or  voluntary  renunciation  of 
the  things  of  this  world,  this  same  lot  was  to  be  sub- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  139 

divided  into  four  portions.  His  intention  was  that  the 
first  should  be  added  to  the  twenty-one  portions  which 
were  to  go  to  the  metropolitan  churches;  the  second 
set  aside  for  his  sons  and  daughters,  and  for  the  sons 
and  daughters  of  his  sons,  and  redivided  among  them 
in  a  just  and  proportionate  manner;  the  third  dedi- 
cated, according  to  the  usage  of  Christians,  to  the  ne- 
cessities of  the  poor ;  and,  lastly,  the  fourth  distributed 
in  the  same  way,  under  the  name  of  alms,  among  the 
servants,  of  both  sexes,  of  the  palace,  for  their  lifetime. 
...  As  for  the  books,  of  which  he  had  amassed  a  large 
number  in  his  library,  he  decided  that  those  who  wished 
to  have  them  might  buy  them  at  their  proper  value,  and 
that  the  money  which  they  produced  should  be  dis- 
tributed among  the  poor." 

Having  thus  carefully  regulated  his  own  private  4 
affairs  and  bounty,  he,  two  years  later,  in  813,  took  the 
measures  necessary  for  the  regulation,  after  his  death, 
of  public  affairs.  He  had  lost,  in  811,  his  eldest  son 
Charles,  who  had  been  his  constant  companion  in  his 
wars,  and,  in  810,  his  second  son,  Pepin,  whom  he  had 
made  King  of  Italy ;  and  he  summoned  to  his  side  his 
third  son,  Louis,  King  of  Aquitaine,  who  was  destined  to 
succeed  him.  He  ordered  the  convocation  of  five  local 
councils,  which  were  to  assemble  at  Mayence,  Rheims, 
Chalons,  Tours,  and  Aries,  for  the  purpose  of  bringing 
about,  subject  to  the  King's  ratification,  the  reforms  nec- 
essary in  the  Church.  Passing  from  the  affairs  of  the  5 
Church  to  those  of  the  State,  he  convoked,  at  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  a  general  assembly  of  bishops,  abbots,  counts, 
laic  grandees,  and  of  the  entire  people,  and,  holding 
council  in  his  palace  with  the  chief  among  them,  "he 
invited  them  to  make  his  son  Louis  King-Emperor; 
whereto  all  assented,  saying  that  it  was  very  expedient, 


140  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

and  pleasing,  also,  to  the  people.  On  Sunday,  in  the 
next  month,  August,  813,  Charlemagne  repaired,  crown 
on  head,  with  his  son  Louis,  to  the  cathedral  of  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  laid  upon  the  altar  another  crown,  and,  after 
praying,  addressed  to  his  son  a  solemn  exhortation  re- 
specting all  his  duties  as  king  toward  God  and  the 
Church,  toward  his  family  and  his  people,  asked  him  if 
he  were  fully  resolved  to  fulfill  them,  and,  at  the  answer 
that  he  was,  bade  him  take  the  crown  that  lay  upon  the 
altar  and  place  it,  with  his  own  hands,  upon  his  head, 
which  Louis  did,  amid  the  acclamations  of  all  present, 

6  who  cried,   l  Long  live  the  Emperor   Louis ! '     Charle- 
magne then  declared  his  son  Emperor  jointly  with  him, 
and  ended  the  solemnity  with  these  words :  *  Blessed  be 
Thou,  O  Lord  God,  who  hast  granted  me  grace  to  see 
with  mine  own  eyes  my  son  seated  on  my  throne ! ' ' 
And  Louis  set  out  again  immediately  for  Aquitaine. 

7  He  was  never  to  see  his  father  again.     Charlemagne, 
after  his  son's  departure,  went  out  hunting,  according  to 
his  custom,  in  the  forest  of  Ardenne,  and  continued  dur- 
ing the  whole  autumn  his  usual  mode  of  life.     "  But,  in 
January,  814,  he  was  taken  ill,"  says  Eginhard,  "  of  a 
violent  fever,  which  kept  him  to  his  bed.     Recurring 
forthwith  to  the  remedy  he  ordinarily  employed  against 
fever,  he  abstained  from  all  nourishment,  persuaded  that 
this  diet  would  suffice  to  drive  away,  or,  at  the  least, 
assuage  the  malady ;  but,  added  to  the  fever,  came  that 
pain  in  the  side  which  the  Greeks  call  pleurisy.      Never- 
theless, the  Emperor  persisted  in  his  abstinence,  support- 
ing his  body  only  by  drinks  taken  at  long  intervals ;  and 
on  the  seventh  day  after  that  he  had  taken  to  his  bed, 
having  received  the  holy  communion,"  he  expired  about 
nine  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  Saturday,  the  28th  of  Jan- 
uary, 814,  in  his  seventy-first  year. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  141 

"  After  performance  of  ablutions  and  funeral  duties,  8 
the  corpse  was  carried  away  and  buried,  amid  the  pro- 
found mourning  of  all  the  people,  in  the  church  he  him- 
self had  built;  and  above  his  tomb  there  was  put  up  a 
gilded  arcade,  with  his  image  and  this  superscription : 
1  In  this  tomb  reposeth  the  body  of  Charles,  great  and 
orthodox  Emperor,  who  did  gloriously  extend  the  king- 
dom of  the  Franks,  and  did  govern  it  happily  for  forty- 
seven  years.  He  died  at  the  age  of  seventy  years,  in  the 
year  of  the  Lord  814,  in  the  seventh  year  of  the  In- 
diction,  on  the  5th  of  the  Kalends  of  February.' " 

If  we  sum  up  his  designs  and  his  achievements,  we  9 
find  an  admirably  sound  idea,  a  vain  dream,  a  great  suc- 
cess, and  a  great  failure. 

Charlemagne  took  in  hand  the  work  of  placing  upon 
a  solid  foundation  the  Frankish  Christian  dominion  by 
stopping,  in  the  north  and  south,  the  flood  of  barbarians 
and  Arabs — Paganism  and  Islamism.  In  that  he  suc- 
ceeded ;  the  inundations  of  Asiatic  populations  spent 
their  force  in  vain  against  the  Gallic  frontier.  Western 
and  Christian  Europe  was  placed,  territorially,  beyond 
reach  of  attacks  from  the  foreigner  and  infidel.  No  sov- 
ereign, no  human  being,  perhaps,  ever  rendered  greater 
service  to  the  civilization  of  the  world. 

Charlemagne  formed  another  conception,  and  made  10 
another  attempt.  Like  more  than  one  great  barbaric 
warrior,  he  admired  the  Roman  Empire  that  had  fallen, 
its  vastness  all  in  one,  and  its  powerful  organization 
under  the  hand  of  a  single  master.  He  thought  he 
could  resuscitate  it,  durably,  through  the  victory  of  a 
new  people  and  a  new  faith,  by  the  hand  of  Franks  and 
Christians.  With  this  view  he  labored  to  conquer,  con- 
vert, and  govern.  He  tried  to  be,  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  Caesar,  Augustus,  and  Constantine.  And  for  a 


142  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

moment  he  appeared  to  have  succeeded ;  but  the  appear- 
ance passed  away  with  himself.  The  unity  of  tin-  em- 
pire and  the  absolute  power  of  the  Emperor  were  buried 
in  his  grave.  The  Christian  religion  and  human  liberty 
set  to  work  to  prepare  for  Europe  other  governments  and 
other  destinies. 


CONDEMNATION    OF  JOAN    OF  ARC.— HER    DEATH.— 
ESTIMATE   OF    HER    CHARACTER. 


Joan  of  Arc  is  one  of  those  rare  phenomena  that  puzzle  the  phi- 
losopher as  well  as  the  historian.  I  have  elsewhere  remarked  that 
a  resemblance  may  be  discerned  between  Mohammed  and  Joan  of 
Arc.  Such  characters  are  developed  by  nearly  all  great  religious 
struggles,  and  may  be  regarded  as  the  joint  product  of  enthusiasm 
and  fanaticism. 

Joan  was  captured  by  the  Burgundian  allies  of  the  English,  and 
was  by  the  English  delivered  to  the  French.  She  was  tried  by  the 
spiritual  power,  condemned,  and  executed  as  a  sorceress,  1431  A.  D. 
This  was  during  the  great  Hundred  Years'  War  between  France  and 
England,  which  began  in  the  reign  of  Edward  III. 

Lamartine  and  De  Quincey  may  be  read  for  views  of  Joan  of  Arc's 
character. 

1  ON  the  29th  of  May  the  tribunal  met  again.  Forty 
judges  took  part  in  the  deliberation.  Joan  was  unani- 
mously declared  a  case  of  relapse,  was  found  guilty,  and 
cited  to  appear  next  day,  the  30th,  on  the  Vieux-Marche" 
to  hear  sentence  pronounced,  and  then  undergo  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  stake. 

When,  on  the  30th  of  May,  in  the  morning,  the  Do- 
minican brother  Martin  Ladvenu  was  charged  to  announce 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  143 

her  sentence  to  Joan,  she  gave  way  at  first  to  grief  and 
terror.  "  Alas  ! ''  she  cried,  "  am  I  to  be  so  horribly  and 
cruelly  treated,  that  this  my  body,  full  pure  and  per- 
fect and  never  defiled,  must  to-day  be  consumed  and 
reduced  to  ashes  ?  Ah  !  I  would  seven  times  rather  be 
beheaded  than  burned!"  The  Bishop  of  Beauvais  at 
this  moment  came  up.  "  Bishop,"  said  Joan,  "  you  are 
the  cause  of  my  death ;  if  you  had  put  me  in  the  prisons 
of  the  Church,  and  in  the  hands  of  fit  and  proper  eccle- 
siastical warders,  this  had  never  happened.  I  appeal 
from  you  to  the  presence  of  God.''  One  of  the  doctors  2 
who  had  sat  in  judgment  upon  her — Peter  Maurice — 
went  to  see  her,  and  spoke  to  her  with  sympathy.  "  Mas- 
ter Peter,"  said  she  to  him,  "where  shall  I  be  to-night?" 
"  Have  you  not  good  hope  in  God  ? "  asked  the  doctor. 
"  O  !  yes,"  she  answered ;  "  by  the  grace  of  God  I  shall 
be  in  paradise."  Being  left  alone  with  the  Dominican, 
Martin  Ladvenu,  she  confessed,  and  asked  to  communi- 
cate. The  monk  applied  to  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  to 
know  what  he  was  to  do.  "  Tell  brother  Martin,"  was 
the  answer,  "  to  give  her  the  eucharist  and  all  she  asks 
for."  At  nine  o'clock,  having  resumed  her  woman's 
dress,  Joan  was  dragged  from  prison,  and  driven  to  the 
Yieux-Marche.  From  seven  to  eight  hundred  soldiers  3 
escorted  the  car,  and  prohibited  all  approach  to  it  on  the 
part  of  the  crowd  which  encumbered  the  road  and  the 
vicinities ;  but  a  man  forced  a  passage,  and  flung  himself 
toward  Joan.  It  was  a  canon  of  Rouen,  Nicolas  Loise- 
leur,  whom  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  had  placed  near  her, 
and  who  had  abused  the  confidence  she  had  shown  him. 
Beside  himself  with  despair,  he  wished  to  ask  pardon  of 
her ;  but  the  English  soldiers  drove  him  back  with  vio- 
lence and  with  the  epithet  of  traitor,  and,  but  for  the 
intervention  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  his  life  would  have 


144  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

4  been  in  danger.     Joan  wept  and  prayed,  and  the  crowd 
afar  off  wept  and  prayed  with  her.     On  arriving  at  the 
place,  Bhe  listened  in  silence  to  a  sermon  by  one  of  the 
doctors  of  the  court,  who  ended  by  saying:  "Joan,  go  in 
peace;  the  Church  can  no  longer  defend  thee;  she  gi\v> 
thee  over  to  the  secular  arm.''     The  laic  judges,  Raoul 
Bouteillier,  baillie  of  Eouen,  and  his  lieutenant,  Peter 
Darou,  were  alone  qualified  to  pronounce  sentence  of 
death  ;  but  no  time  was  given  to  them.     The  priest  Mas- 
sieu  was  still  continuing  his  exhortations  to  Joan,  but 
"  How  now,  priest ! "  was  the  cry  from  amid  the  soldiery ; 
"are  you  going  to  make  us  dine  here?" — "Away  with 
her — away  with  her !  "  said  the  baillie  to  the  guards ;  and 

5  to  the  executioner,  "  Do  thy  duty."    When  she  came  to 
the  stake,  Joan  knelt  down,  completely  absorbed  in  prayer. 
She  had  begged  Massieu  to  get  her  a  cross,  and  an  Eng- 
lishman present  made  one  out  of  a  little  stick  and  handed 
it  to  the  French  heroine,  who  took  it,  kissed  it,  and  laid 
it  on  her  breast.     She  begged  brother  Isambard  de  la 
Pierre  to  go  and  fetch  the  cross  from  the  church  of  St. 
Sauveur,  the  chief  door  of  which  opened  on  the  Yieux- 
Marche,  and  to  hold  it  "  upright  before  her  eyes  till  the 
coming  of  death,  in  order,"  she  said,  "  that  the  cross 
whereon  God  hung  might,  as  long  as  she  lived,  be  con- 
tinually in  her  sight " ;  and  her  wishes  were  fulfilled. 
She  wept  over  her  country  and  the  spectators  as  well  as 
over  herself.     "  Rouen,  Rouen ! "  she  cried,  "  is  it  here 
that  I  must  die  ?    Shalt  thou  be  my  last  resting-place  ?    I 

6  fear  greatly  thou  wilt  have  to  suffer  for  my  death.''    It  is 
said  that  the  aged  Cardinal  of  Winchester  and  the  Bishop 
of  Beauvais  himself  could  not  stifle  their  emotion — and, 
peradventure,  their  tears.    The  executioner  set  fire  to  the 
fagots.    When  Joan  perceived  the  flames  rising,  she  urged 
her  confessor,  the  Dominican  brother  Martin  Ladvenu,  to 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  143 

go  down,  at  the  same  time  asking  him  to  keep  holding 
the  cross  up  high  in  front  of  her,  that  she  might  never 
cease  to  see  it.  The  same  monk,  when  questioned  four- 
and-twenty  years  later,  at  the  rehabilitation  trial,  as  to 
the  last  sentiments  and  the  last  words  of  Joan,  said  that 
to  the  very  latest  moment  she  had  affirmed  that  her  voices 
were  heavenly  ;  that  they  had  not  deluded  her ;  and  that 
the  revelations  she  had  received  came  from  God.  When? 
she  had  ceased  to  live,  two  of  her  judges— John  Alespee, 
canon  of  Rouen,  and  Peter  Maurice,  doctor  of  theology- 
cried  out,  "  Would  that  my  soul  were  where  I  believe  the 
soul  of  that  woman  is ! "  And  Tressart,  secretary  to  King 
Henry  VI,  said  sorrowfully,  on  returning  from  the  place 
of  execution  :  "  We  are  all  lost ;  we  have  burned  a  saint !  " 

A  saint  indeed  in  faith  and  in  destiny.  Never  was  8 
human  creature  more  heroically  confident  in  and  devoted 
to  inspiration  coming  from  God — a  commission  received 
from  God.  Joan  of  Arc  sought  nothing  of  all  that  hap- 
pened to  her  and  of  all  she  did,  nor  exploit,  nor  power, 
nor  glory.  "  It  was  not  her  condition,"  as  she  used  to 
say,  to  be  a  warrior,  to  get  her  king  crowned,  and  to  de- 
liver her  country  from  the  foreigner.  Everything  came 
to  her  from  on  high,  and  she  accepted  everything  with- 
out hesitation,  without  discussion,  without  calculation,  as 
we  should  say  in  our  time7,  Phe  believed  in  God,  and  9 
obeyed  him.  God  was  not  to  her  an  idea,  a  hope,  a  flash 
of  human  imagination,  or  a  problem  of  human  science. 
He  was  the  Creator  of  the  world ;  the  Saviour  of  man- 
kind through  Jesus  Christ ;  the  Being  of  beings,  ever 
present,  ever  in  action ;  sole  legitimate  Sovereign  of  man, 
whom  he  has  made  intelligent  and  free ;  the  real  and  true 
God  whom  we  are  painfully  searching  for  in  our  own  day, 
and  whom  we  shall  never  find  again  until  we  cease  pre- 
tending to  do  without  him  and  putting  ourselves  in  his 


146  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

10  place.     Meanwhile,  one  fact  may  be  mentioned  which 
does  honor  to  our  epoch  and  gives  us  hope  for  our  future. 
Four  centuries  have  rolled  by  since  Joan  of  Arc,  that 
modest  and  heroic  servant  of  God,  made  a  sacrifice  of 
herself  for  France.     For  four-and-twenty  years  after  her 
death,  France  and  the  King  appeared  to  think  no  more 
of  her.     However,  in  1455,  remorse  came  upon  Charles 
VII  and  upon  France.     Nearly  all  the  provinces,  all  the 
towns,  were  freed  from  the  foreigner,  and  shame  was  felt 
that  nothing  was  said,  nothing  done,  for  the  young  girl 
who  had  saved  everything.     At  Rouen  especially,  where 
the  sacrifice  was  completed,  a  cry  for  reparation  arose. 
It  was  timidly  demanded  from  the  spiritual  power  which 
had  sentenced  and  delivered  over  Joan  as  a  heretic  to  the 

11  stake.     Pope  Calixtus  III  entertained  the  request  pre- 
ferred, not  by  the  King  of  France,  but  in  the  name  of 
Isabel  Romee,  Joan's  mother,  and   her  whole   family. 
Regular  proceedings  were  commenced  and  followed  up 
for  the  rehabilitation  of  the  martyr,  and  on  the  7th  of 
July,  1456,  a  decree  of  the  court  assembled  at  Rouen 
quashed  the  sentence  of  1431  together  with  all  its  conse- 
quences, and  ordered  "  a  general  procession  and  solemn 
sermon  at  St.  Ouen  Place  and  the  Vieux-Marche,  where 
the  said  maid  had  been  cruelly  and  horribly  burned,  be- 
sides the  planting  of  a  cross  of  honor  (crucis  honestce)  on 
the  Yieux-Marche",  the  judges  reserving  the  official  notice 
to  be  given  of  their  decision  throughout  the  cities  and 
notable  places  of  the  realm."     The  city  of  Orleans  re- 
sponded to  this  appeal  by  raising  on  the  bridge  over  the 
Loire  a  group  in  bronze  representing  Joan  of  Arc  on  her 
knees  before  Our  Lady  between  two  angels.    This  monu- 
ment, which  was  broken  during  the  religious  wars  of  the 
sixteenth  century  and  repaired  shortly  afterward,  was 
removed  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and  Joan  of  Arc  then 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  147 

received  a  fresh  insult ;  the  poetry  of  a  cynic  was  devoted 
to  the  task  of  diverting  a  licentious  public  at  the  expense 
of  the  saint  whom,  three  centuries  before,  fanatical  hatred 
had  brought  to  the  stake.  In  1792  the  council  of  the  12 
commune  of  Orleans,  "  considering  that  the  monument 
in  bronze  did  not  represent  the  heroine's  services,  and  did 
not  by  any  sign  call  to  mind  the  struggle  against  the 
English,"  ordered  it  to  be  melted  down  and  cast  into 
cannons,  of  which  "  one  should  bear  the  name  of  Joan  of 
Arc."  It  is  in  our  time  that  the  city  of  Orleans  and  its 
distinguished  Bishop,  Mgr.  Dupanloup,  have  at  last  paid 
Joan  homage  worthy  of  her,  not  only  by  erecting  to  her 
a  new  statue,  but  by  recalling  her  again  to  the  memory 
of  France  with  her  true  features  and  in  her  grand  charac- 
ter. Neither  French  nor  any  other  history  offers  a  like 
example  of  a  modest  little  soul,  with  a  faith  so  pure  and 
efficacious,  resting  on  divine  inspiration  and  patriotic 
hope. 


CHARACTER  OF  THE   MIDDLE  AGES. 
GTJIZOT'S  "HISTORY  OF  FRANCE/' 

This  short  sketch  of  the  Middle  Ages,  by  Guizot,  should  be  com- 
pared with  Pearson's  elaborate  essay  on  the  same  subject. 

IT  has  been  remarked  that  the  Middle  Ages  were,  in  1 
point  of  fact,  one  of  the  most  brutal,  most  ruffianly  epochs 
in  history,  one  of  those  wherein  we  encounter  most  crimes 
and  violence  ;  wherein  the  public  peace  was  most  inces- 
santly troubled,  and  wherein  the  greatest  licentiousness 
in  morals  prevailed.  Nevertheless  it  can  not  be  denied 
that  side  by  side  with  these  gross  and  barbarous  morals, 

this  social  disorder,  there  existed  knightly  morality  and 
1 1 


148  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

knightly  poetry^J  We  have  moral  records  confronting 
ruffianly  deeds ;  and  the  contrast  is  shocking,  but  real. 
It  is  exactly  this  contrast  which  makes  the  great  and  fun- 
damental characteristic  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Let  us  turn 
our  eyes  toward  other  communities,  toward  the  earliest 
stages,  for  instance,  of  Greek  society,  toward  that  heroic 
age  of  which  Homer's  poems  are  the  faithful  reflection. 

2  There  is  nothing  there  like  the  contrasts  by  which  we  are 
struck  in  the  Middle  Ages.     "VVe  do  not  see  that,  at  the 
period  and  among  the  people  of  the  Homeric  poems,  there 
was  abroad  in  the  air  or  had  penetrated  into  the  imagina- 
tions of  men  any  idea  more  lofty  or  more  pure  than  their 
every  day  actions ;  the  heroes  of  Homer  seem  to  have  no 
misgiving  about  their  brutishness,  their  ferocity,  their 
greed,  their  egotism  ;   there  is  nothing  in  their  souls  su- 
perior to  the  deeds  of  their  lives.     In  the  France  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  on  the  contrary,  though  practically  crimes 
and  disorders,  moral  and  social  evils  abound,  yet  men 
have  in  their  souls  and  their  imaginations  loftier  and 
purer  instincts  and  desires;  their  notions  of  virtue  and 
their  ideas  of  justice  are  very  superior  to  the  practice 
pursued  around  them  and  among  themselves ;  a  certain 
moral  ideal  hovers  above  this  low  and  tumultuous  com- 
munity, and  attracts  the  notice  and  obtains  the  regard  of 

3  men  in  whose  life  it  is  but  very  faintly  reflected.     The 
Christian  religion  undoubtedly  is,  if  not  the  only,  at  any 
rate  the  principal,  cause  of  this  great  fact ;  for  its  particu- 
lar characteristic  is  to  arouse  among  men  a  lofty  moral 
ambition  by  keeping  constantly  before  their  eyes  a  type 
infinitely  beyond  the  reach  of  human  nature,  and  yet  pro- 
foundly sympathetic  with  it.     To  Christianity  it  was  that 
the  Middle  Ages  owed  knighthood,  that  institution  which, 
in  the  midst  of  anarchy  and  barbarism,  gave  a  poetical 
and  moral  beauty  to  the  period.     It  was  feudal  knight- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  149 

hood  and  Christianity  together  which  produced  the  two 
great  and  glorious  events  of  those  times,  the  Norman  con- 
quest of  England  and  the  Crusades. 


THE  CRUSADES.— PREACHING   OF  PETER  THE   HER- 
MIT.—ENTHUSIASM    OF  THE  CRUSADERS. 

GTJIZOT'S  "HISTORY  OF  FRANCE." 
(See  note  on  the  Crusades,  extracts  from  Gibbon.) 

IN  1095,  after  the  preaching  errantry  of  Peter  thel 
Hermit,  Pope  Urban  II  was  at  Clermont,  in  Auvergne, 
presiding  at  the  grand  council,  at  which  thirteen  arch- 
bishops and  two  hundred  and  five  bishops  or  abbots  were 
met  together,  with  so  many  princes  and  lay-lords,  that 
"  about  the  middle  of  the  month  of  November  the  towns 
and  the  villages  of  the  neighborhood  were  full  of  people, 
and  divers  were  constrained  to  have  their  tents  and  pa- 
vilions set  up  amid  the  fields  and  meadows,  notwith- 
standing that  the  season  and  the  country  were  cold  to  an 
extreme."  The  first  nine  sessions  of  the  council  were 
devoted  to  the  affairs  of  the  Church  in  the  West ;  but  at 
the  tenth,  Jerusalem  and  the  Christians  of  the  East  be- 
came the  subject  of  deliberation.  The  Pope  went  out  of 
the  church  wherein  the  council  was  assembled  and 
mounted  a  platform  erected  upon  a  vast  open  space  in 
the  midst  of  the  throng.  Peter  the  Hermit,  standing  at  2 
his  side,  spoke  first,  and  told  the  story  of  his  sojourn  at 
Jerusalem,  all  he  had  seen  of  the  miseries  and  humilia- 
tions of  the  Christians,  and  all  he  himself  had  suffered 
there,  for  he  had  been  made  to  pay  tribute  for  admission 
into  the  Holy  City,  and  for  gazing  upon  the  spectacle  of 


1BO  HISTORICAL  REM)INGS. 

the  exactions,  insults,  and  tortures  he  was  recounting. 
After  him  Pope  Urban  II  spoke  in  the  French  tongue, 
no  doubt,  as  Peter  had  spoken,  for  he  was  himself  a 
Frenchman,  as  the  majority  of  those  present  were, 
grandees  and  populace.  He  made  a  long  speech,  enter- 
ing upon  the  most  painful  details  connected  with  the 
sufferings  of  the  Christians  of  Jerusalem,  "  that  royal  city 
which  the  Redeemer  of  the  human  race  had  made  illus- 
trious by  his  coming,  had  honored  by  his  residence,  had 
hallowed  by  his  passion,  had  purchased  by  his  death, 
had  distinguished  by  his  burial.  She  now  demands  of 
you  her  deliverance  .  .  .  men  of  France,  men  from  be- 
yond the  mountains,  nations  chosen  and  beloved  of  God, 
right  valiant  knights,  recall  the  virtues  of  your  ancestors, 
the  virtue  and  greatness  of  King  Charlemagne  and  your 
other  kings;  it  is  from  you  above  all  that  Jerusalem 
awaits  the  help  she  invokes,  for  to  you,  above  all  nations, 
God  has  vouchsafed  signal  glory  in  arms.  Take  ye,  then, 
the  road  to  Jerusalem  for  the  remission  of  your  sins,  and 
depart,  assured  of  the  imperishable  glory  which  awaits 
you  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

3  From  the  midst  of  the  throng  arose  one  prolonged 
and  general  shout,  "  God  will  eth  it!  God  willeth  it!" 
The  Pope  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then,  making  a  sign 
with  his  hand  as  if  to  ask  for  silence,  he  continued  :  "  If 
the  Lord  God  were  not  in  your  souls,  ye  would  not  all 
have  uttered  the  same  words.  In  the  battle,  then,  be 
those  your  war-cry,  those  words  that  came  from  God ;  in 
the  army  of  the  Lord  let  naught  be  heard  but  that  one 
shout,  'God  willeth  it!  God  willeth  it!'  We  ordain 
not,  and  we  advise  not,  that  the  journey  be  undertaken 
by  the  old  or  the  weak,  or  such  as  be  not  suited  for  arms, 
and  let  not  women  set  out  without  their  husbands  or  their 
brothers;  let  the  rich  help  the  poor;  nor  priests  nor 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  131 

clerks  may  go  without  the  leave  of  their  bishops ;  and  no 
layman  shall  commence  the  march  save  with  the  blessing 
of  his  pastor.  Whosoever  hath  a  wish  to  enter  upon  this 
pilgrimage,  let  him  wear  upon  his  brow  or  his  breast  the 
cross  of  the  Lord ;  and  let  him  who,  in  accomplishment 
of  his  desire,  shall  be  willing  to  march  away,  place  the 
cross  behind  him  between  his  shoulders ;  for  thus  he  will 
fulfill  the  precept  of  the  Lord,  who  said,  l  He  that  doth 
not  take  up  his  cross  and  follow  me,  is  not  worthy  of 
me.'  " 

The  enthusiasm  was  general  and  contagious,  as  the  4 
first  shout  of  the  crowd  had  been  ;  and  a  pious  prelate, 
Adhemar,  Bishop  of  Puy,  was  the  first  to  receive  the 
cross  from  the  Pope's  hands.  It  was  of  red  cloth  or  silk, 
sewed  upon  the  right  shoulder  of  the  coat  or  cloak,  or 
fastened  on  the  front  of  the  helmet.  The  crowd  dis- 
persed to  assume  it  and  spread  it. 

.Religious  enthusiasm  was  not  the  only,  but  the  firsts 
and  the  determining  motive  of  the  Crusade.  It  is  to  the 
honor  of  humanity,  and  especially  to  the  honor  of  the 
French  nation,  that  it  is  accessible  to  the  sudden  sway  of 
a  moral  and  disinterested  sentiment,  and  resolves,  with- 
out prevision  as  well  as  without  premeditation,  upon  acts 
which  decide  for  many  a  long  year  the  course  and  the 
fate  of  a  generation,  and;  it  may  be,  of  a  whole  people. 
We  have  seen  in  our  own  day,  in  the  conduct  of  popu- 
lace, national  assemblies,  and  armies,  under  the  impulse 
not  any  longer  of  religious  feeling,  but  of  political  and 
social  agitation,  France  thus  giving  herself  up  to  the  rush 
of  sentiments,  generous  indeed  and  pure,  but  without  the 
least  forecast  touching  the  consequences  of  the  ideas 
which  inspired  them  or  the  acts  which  they  entailed.  It 
is  with  nations  as  with  armies :  the  side  of  glory  is  that 
of  danger ;  and  great  works  are  wrought  at  a  heavy  cost, 


1S2  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

6  not  only  of  happiness,  but  also  of  virtue.     It  would  be 
wrong,  nevertheless,  to  lack  respect  for  and  to  speak  evil 
of  enthusiasm  ;  it  not  only  bears  witness  to  the  grandeur 
of  human  nature,  it  justly  holds  its  place  and  exercises 
its  noble  influence  in  the  course  of  the  great  events  which 
move  across  the  scene  of  human  errors  and  vices,  accord- 
ing to  the  vast  and  inscrutable  design  of  God.    It  is  quite 
certain  that  the  Crusaders  of  the  eleventh  century,  in  their 
haste  to  deliver  Jerusalem  from  the  Mussulmans,  were 
far  from   foreseeing   that,   a   few  centuries  after  their 
triumph,  Jerusalem  and  the  Christian   East  would  fall 
again  beneath  the  yoke   of  the   Mussulmans  and   their 
barbaric  stagnation  ;  an  1  this  future,  had  they  caught  but 
a  glimpse  of  it,  would  doubtless  have  chilled  their  zeal. 
But  it  is  not  a  whit  the  less  certain  that,  in  view  of  the 
end,  their  labor  was  not  in  vain ;  for,  in  the  panorama  of 
the  world's  history,  the  Crusades  marked  the  date  of  the 
arrest  of  Islamism,  and   powerfully  contributed  to  the 
decisive  preponderance  of  Christian  civilization. 

7  To  religious  enthusiasm  there  was  joined  another  mo- 
tive, less  disinterested,  but  natural  and  legitimate,  which 
was  the  still  very  vivid  recollection  of  the  evils  caused  to 
the  Christians  of  the  West  by  the  Mussulman  invasions 
in  Spain,  France,  and  Italy,  and  the  fear  of  seeing  them 
begin  again.     Instinctively,  war  was  carried  to  the  East 
to  keep  it  from  the  West,  just  as  Charlemagne  had  in- 
vaded and  conquered  the  country  of  the  Saxons  to  put  an 
end  to  their  inroads  upon  the  Franks.     And  this  prudent 
plan  availed  not  only  to  give  the  Christians  of  the  West 
a  hope  of  security,  it  afforded  them  the  pleasure  of  ven- 
geance.    They  were  about  to  pay  back  alarm  for  alarm, 
and  evil  for  evil,  to  the  enemy  from  whom  they  had  suf- 
fered in  the  same  way ;  hatred  and  pride,  as  well  as  piety, 
obtained  satisfaction. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  1B3 

There  is,  moreover,  great  motive  power  in  a  spirit  of  8 
enterprise  and  a  taste  for  adventure.  Care-for-nothing- 
ness  is  one  of  mankind's  chief  diseases,  and  if  it  plays 
so  conspicuous  a  part  in  comparatively  enlightened  and 
favored  communities,  amid  the  labors  and  the  enjoyments 
of  an  advanced  civilization,  its  influence  was  certainly  not 
less  in  times  of  intellectual  sloth  and  harshly  monotonous 
existence.  To  escape  therefrom,  to  satisfy  in  some  sort 
the  energy  and  curiosity  inherent  in  man,  the  people  of 
the  eleventh  century  had  scarcely  any  resource  but  war, 
with  its  excitement  and  distant  excursions  into  unknown 
regions.  Thither  rushed  the  masses  of  the  people,  while 
the  minds  which  were  eager,  above  everything,  for  intel- 
lectual movement  and  for  knowledge,  thronged,  on  the 
mountain  of  St.  Genevieve,  to  the  lectures  of  Abelard. 
Need  of  variety  and  novelty,  and  an  instinctive  desire  to 
extend  their  views  and  enliven  their  existence,  probably 
made  as  many  Crusaders  as  the  feeling  against  the  Mus- 
sulmans and  the  promptings  of  piety. 


DEATH  OF  MARSHAL  TURENNE. 


Marshal  Turenne  was  one  of  the  most  illustrious  of  French  com- 
manders, and  his  modesty  was  equal  to  his  merit.  Few  generals 
have  done  more  to  develop  war  into  a  science  than  Turenne,  and 
his  great  pupil,  the  Duke  of  Marlborough. 

ON  the  27th  of  June,  1675,  in  the  morning,  Turenne  1 
ordered  an  attack  on  the  village  of  Salzbach.     The  young 
Count  of  St.  Hilaire  found  him  at  the  head  of  his  in- 


154  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

fantry,  seated  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  into  which  he  had  or- 
dered an  old  soldier  to  climb,  in  order  to  have  a  better 
view  of  the  enemy's  manoeuvres.  The  Count  of  Roye 
sent  to  conjure  him  to  reconnoitre  in  person  the  German 
column  that  was  advancing.  "I  shall  remain  where  I 
am,"  said  Turenne,  "  unless  something  important  occur," 
and  he  sent  off  reinforcements  to  M.  de  Roye  ;  the  latter 
repeated  his  entreaties  ;  the  Marshal  asked  for  his  horse, 
and,  at  a  hand  gallop,  reached  the  right  of  the  army,  along 
a  hollow,  in  order  to  be  under  cover  from  two  small  pieces 
of  cannon  which  kept  up  an  incessant  tire.  "  I  don't  at 
all  want  to  be  killed  to-day,"  he  kept  saying.  He  per- 
ceived M.  de  St.  Hilaire,  the  father,  coming  to  meet  him, 
and  asked  him  what  column  it  was  on  account  of  which 

2  he  had  been  sent  for.     "  My  father  was  pointing  it  out  to 
him,"  writes  young  St.  Hilaire,  "  when,  unhappily,  the 
two  little  pieces  tired :  a  ball,  passing  over  the  quarters 
of  my  father's  horse,  carried  away  his  left  arm  and  the 
horse's  neck,  and  struck  M.  de  Turenne  in  the  left  side ; 
he  still  went  forward  about  twenty  paces  on  his  horse's 
neck,  and  fell  dead.     I  ran  to  my  father,  who  was  down, 
and  raised  him  up.     '  No  need  to  weep  for  me,'  he  said  ; 
1  it  is  the  death  of  that  great  man ;  you  may,  perhaps, 
lose  your  father,  but  neither  your  country  nor  you  will 
ever  have  a  general  like  that  again.     O  poor  army,  what 
is  to  become,  of  you  ? '     Tears  fell  from  his  eyes ;  then, 
suddenly  recovering  himself,  ;  Go,  my  son,  and  leave  me,' 
he  said  ;  '  with  me  it  will  be  as  God  pleases ;  time  presses ; 
go  and  do  your  duty ' "  ("  Memoires  du  Marquis  de  St. 
Hilaire,"  t.  i,  p.  205).     They  threw  a  cloak  over  the  corpse 

3  of  the  great  General,  and  bore  it  away.     "  The  soldiers 
raised  a  cry  that  was  heard  two  leagues  off,"  writes  Ma- 
dame de  Sevigne ;  "  no  consideration  could  restrain  them  ; 
they  roared  to  be  led  to  battle,  they  wanted  to  avenge  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  188 

death  of  their  father ;  with  him  they  had  feared  nothing, 
but  they  would  show  how  to  avenge  him,  let  it  be  left  to 
them;  they  were  frantic — let  them  be  led  to  battle." 
Montecnculli  had  for  a  moment  halted.  "  To-day  a  man 
has  fallen  who  did  honor  to  man,"  said  he,  as  he  uncov- 
ered respectfully.  He  threw  himself,  however,  on  the 
rear-guard  of  the  French  army,  which  was  falling  back 
upon  Elsass,  and  recrossed  the  Rhine  at  Altenheim.  The 
death  of  Turenne  was  equivalent  to  a  defeat. 

The  Emperor  Napoleon  said  of  Turenne,  "  He  is  the  4 
only  general  whom  experience  ever  made  more  daring." 
He  had  been  fighting  for  forty  years,  and  his  fame  was 
still  increasing,  without  effort  or  ostentation  on  his  part. 
"  M.  de  Turenne,  from  his  youth  up,  possessed  all  good 
qualities,"  wrote  Cardinal  de  Retz,  who  knew  him  well, 
"  and  the  great  he  acquired  full  early.  He  lacked  none 
but  those  that  he  did  not  think  about.  He  possessed 
nearly  all  virtues  as  it  were  by  nature ;  he  never  possessed 
the  glitter  of  any.  He  was  believed  to  be  more  fitted 
for  the  head  of  an  army  than  of  a  party,  and  so  I  think, 
because  he  was  not  naturally  enterprising ;  but,  however, 
who  knows  ?  He  always  had  in  everything,  just  as  in  his 
speech,  certain  obscurities,  which  were  never  cleared  up 
save  by  circumstances,  but  never  save  to  his  glory."  He 
had  said,  when  he  set  out,  to  this  same  Cardinal  de  Retz, 
then  in  retirement  at  Commercy,  "  Sir,  I  am  no  talker 
(diseur\  but  I  beg  you  to  believe  that,  if  it  were  not  for 
this  business  in  which  perhaps  I  may  be  required,  I  would 
go  into  retirement  as  you  have  gone,  and  I  give  you  my 
word  that,  if  I  come  back,  I,  like  you,  will  put  some  space 
between  life  and  death."  God  did  not  leave  him  time.  5 
He  summoned  suddenly  to  him  this  noble,  grand,  and 
simple  soul.  "  I  see  that  cannon  loaded  with  all  eternity," 
says  Madame  de  Sevigne ;  "  I  see  all  that  leads  M.  de 


136  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

Turenne  thither,  and  I  see  therein  nothing  gloomy  for 
him.  What  does  he  lack  ?  He  dies  in  the  meridian  of 
his  fame.  Sometimes,  by  living  on,  the  star  pales.  It  is 
safer  to  cut  to  the  quick,  especially  in  the  case  of  heroes 
whose  actions  are  all  so  watched.  M.  de  Turenne  did  not 
feel  death  :  count  you  that  for  nothing  ? "  Turenne  \\  a> 
sixty- four ;  he  had  become  a  convert  to  Catholicism  in 
1668,  seriously  and  sincerely,  as  he  did  everything.  For 
him  Bossuet  had  written  his  exposition  of  faith.  Heroic 
souls  are  rare,  and  those  that  are  heroic  and  modest  are 
rarer  still ;  that  was  the  distinctive  feature  of  M.  de  Tu- 
renne. "  When  a  man  boasts  that  he  has  never  made 
mistakes  in  war,  he  convinces  me  that  he  lias  not  been 
long  at  it,"  he  would  say.  At  his  death,  France  consid- 
ered herself  lost. 


SAILING   OF   THE    NORMAN    FLEET    FOR   THE    CON- 
QUEST   OF    ENGLAND. 

GUIZOT'S  "HISTORY  OF  FRANCE." 

An  interesting  account  of  the  assembling  of  the  forces  that  con- 
stituted the  Norman  array  will  be  found  in  Thierry's  "  Norman  Con- 
quest of  England." 

1  DIVES  was  the  place  of  assemblage  appointed  for  fleet 
and  army.  William  repaired  thither  about  the  end  of 
August,  1066.  But  for  several  weeks  contrary  winds  pre- 
vented him  from  putting  to  sea ;  some  vessels  which  made 
the  attempt  perished  in  the  tempest ;  and  some  of  the 
volunteer  adventurers  got  disgusted,  and  deserted.  Wil- 
liam maintained  strict  discipline  among  this  multitude, 
forbidding  plunder  so  strictly  that  "  the  cattle  fed  in  the 
fields  in  full  security."  The  soldiers  grew  tired  of  wait- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  187 

ing  in  idleness  and  often  in  sickness.  "  Yon  is  a  mad- 
man," said  they,  "  who  is  minded  to  possess  himself  of 
another's  land  ;  God  is  against  the  design,  and  so  refuses 
us  a  wind."  About  the  20th  of  September  the  weather 
changed.  The  fleet  got  ready,-  but  could  only  go  and 
anchor  at  St.  Valery,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Somme.  There 
it  was  necessary  to  wait  several  more  days ;  impatience 
and  disquietude  were  redoubled  ;  "  and  there  appeared  in 
the  heavens  a  star  with  a  tail,  a  certain  sign  of  great 
things  to  come."  William  had  the  shrine  of  St.  Valery  2 
brought  out  and  paraded  about,  being  more  impatient  in 
his  soul  than  anybody,  but  ever  confident  in  his  will  and 
his  good  fortune.  There  was  brought  to  him  a  spy  whom 
Harold  had  sent  to  watch  the  forces  and  plans  of  the 
enemy  ;  and  William  dismissed  him,  saying  :  "  Harold 
hath  no  need  to  take  any  care  or  be  at  any  charges  to  know 
how  we  be,  and  what  we  be  doing ;  he  shall  see  for  him- 
self, and  shall  feel  before  the  end  of  the  year."  At  last,  on 
the  27th  of  September,  1066,  the  sun  rose  on  a  calm  sea  and 
with  a  favorable  wind ;  and  toward  evening  the  fleet  set  out. 
The  Mora,  the  vessel  on  which  William  was,  and  which  had 
been  given  to  him  by  his  wife  Matilda,  led  the  way ;  and 
a  figure  in  gilded  bronze,  some  say  in  gold,  representing 
their  youngest  son,  William,  had  been  placed  on  the 
prow,  with  the  face  toward  England.  Being  a  better  sailer 
than  the  others,  this  ship  was  soon  a  long  way  ahead ;  and 
William  had  a  mariner  sent  to  the  top  of  the  mainmast 
to  see  if  the  fleet  were  following.  "  I  see  naught  but 
sea  and  sky,"  said  the  mariner.  William  had  the  ship 
brought  to ;  and,  the  second  time,  the  mariner  said,  "  I 
see  four  ships."  Before  long  he  cried,  "  I  see  a  forest  of 
masts  and  sails."  On  the  29th  of  September,  St.  Micha-3 
el's  day,  the  expedition  arrived  off  the  coast  of  England, 
at  Pevensey,  near  Hastings,  and  "when  the  tide  had 


158  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ebbed,  and  the  ships  remained  aground  on  the  strand," 
says  the  chronicle,  the  landing  was  effected  without  obsta- 
cle ;  not  a  Saxon  soldier  appeared  on  the  coast.  William 
was  the  last  to  leave  his  ship ;  and  on  setting  foot  on  the 
sand  he  made  a  false  step  and  fell.  "  Bad  sign ! "  \v;ts 
muttered  around  him ;  "  God  have  us  in  his  keeping ! " 
"  What  say  you,  lords  ? "  cried  William ;  "  by  the  glory  of 
God,  I  have  grasped  this  land  with  my  hands ;  all  that 
there  is  of  it  is  ours !  " 

4  With  what  forces  William  undertook  the  conquest  of 
England,  how  many  ships  composed  his  fleet,  and  how 
many  men  were  aboard  the  ships,  are  questions  impos- 
sible to  be  decided  with  any  precision,  as  we  have  fre- 
quently before  had  occasion  to  remark,  amid  the  exag- 
gerations and  disagreements  of  chroniclers.  Robert  Wace 
reports,  in  his  "  Romance  of  Rou,"  that  he  had  heard 
from  his  father,  one  of  William's  servants  on  this  expedi- 
tion, that  the  fleet  numbered  six  hundred  and  ninety-six 
vessels,  but  he  had  found  in  divers  writings  that  there 
were  more  than  three  thousand.  M.  Augustin  Thierry, 
after  his  learned  researches,  says,  in  his  history  of  the 
"Conquest  of  England  by  the  Normans,"  that  "four 
hundred  vessels  of  four  sails,  and  more  than  a  thousand 
transport-ships,  moved  out  into  the  open  sea,  to  the  sound 
of  trumpets  and  of  a  great  cry  of  joy  raised  by  sixty  thou- 

5sarid  throats."  It  is  probable  that  the  estimate  of  the 
fleet  is  pretty  accurate,  and  that  of  the  army  exaggerated. 
We  saw  in  1830  what  efforts  and  pains  it  required,  amid 
the  power  and  intelligent  ability  of  modern  civilization, 
to  transport  from  France  to  Algeria  thirty-seven  thou- 
sand men  aboard  three  squadrons,  comprising  six  hundred 
and  seventy-five  ships  of  all  sorts.  Granted  that  in  the 
eleventh  century  there  was  more  hap-hazard  than  in  the 
nineteenth,  and  that  there  was  less  care  for  human  life  on 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  189 

the  eve  of  a  war ;  still,  without  a  doubt,  the  armament  of 
Normandy  in  1066  was  not  to  be  compared  with  that  of 
France  of  1830,  and  jet  William's  intention  was  to  con- 
quer England,  whereas  Charles  X  thought  only  of  chas- 
tising the  Dey  of  Algiers. 


THE    DEATH    OF   GUSTAVUS  ADOLPH US,— ESTIMATE 
OF    HIS   CHARACTER. 

GUIZOT'S    "  HISTORY    OF   FBANCE." 

Gustavus  Adolphus  was  King  of  Sweden,  and  was  the  ally  of  the 
German  Protestants  during  the  great  Thirty  Years1  War  in  Germany 
(1618-'48).  This  war,  or  series  of  wars,  was  one  of  the  most  fearful 
that  has  occurred  in  modern  times.  It  was  a  revival  of  the  issues 
involved  in  the  Reformation  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  was  the 
last  great  war  of  religion  in  Europe.  Tilly,  Wallenstein,  and  Gus- 
tavus  Adolphus  are  among  the  most  conspicuous  figures  in  the  pro- 
tracted struggle.  So  fierce  and  desolating  was  the  strife,  that  some 
parts  of  Germany  have  not  to  this  day  recovered  from  its  effects. 
At  last  it  ended  in  compromises,  and  in  serious  losses  to  Germany. 
Gustavus  Adolphus  was  one  of  the  most  promising  military  com- 
manders of  his  age,  and  is  especially  distinguished  for  his  services 
in  promoting  the  use  of  light  artillery,  so  formidable  an  arm  in 
modern  warfare.  The  student,  should  read  Archbishop  Trench's 
"  Twelve  Lectures  on  the  Thirty  Years'  War,"  Von  Ranke's  "  Life 
of  Wallenstein,"  and  Gardiner's  "  History  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War." 

THERE  was  a  thick  fog.  Gustavus  Adolphus,  rising  1 
before  daybreak,  would  not  put  on  his  breastplate,  his 
old  wounds  hurting  him  under  harness :  "  God  is  my 
breastplate,"  he  said.  When  somebody  came  and  asked 
him  for  his  watchword,  he  answered,  "  God  with  us  " ; 
and  it  was  Luther's  hymn,  "  Ein  feste  Burg  ist  unser 
Gott "  (our  God  is  a  strong  tower),  that  the  Swedes  sang 


160  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

as  they  advanced  toward  the  enemy.  The  King  had  given 
orders  to  march  straight  on  Liitzen.  "  He  animated  his 
men  to  the  tight,"  says  Kichelieu,  "  with  words  that  he 
had  at  command,  while  Wallenstein,  by  his  mere  presence 
and  the  sternness  of  his  silence,  seemed  to  let  his  men 
understand  that,  as  he  had  been  wont  to  do,  he  would 
reward  them  or  chastise  them,  according  as  they  did  well 
or  ill  on  that  great  day." 

2  It  was  10  A.  M.,  and  the  fog  had  just  lifted  ;  six  bat- 
teries of  cannon  and  two  large  ditches  defended  the  im- 
perialists ;   the   artillery  from   the   ramparts  of   Liitzen 
played  upon  the  King's  army ;  the  balls  came  whizzing 
about  him.    .Bernard  of  Saxe-Weimar  was  the  first  to 
attack,   pushing  forward   on   Liitzen,   which   was   soon 
taken.     Gustavus  Adolphus  marched  on  to  the  enemy's 
intrenchments ;    for  an    instant    the    Swedish    infantry 
seemed  to  waver;  the  King  seized  a  pike  and  flung  him- 
self amid  the  ranks.     "After  crossing  so  many  rivers, 
scaling  so  many  walls,  and  storming  so  many  places,  if 
you  have  not  courage  enough  to  defend  yourselves,  at 
least  turn  your  heads  to  see  me  die ! "  he  shouted  to  the 
soldiers.     They  rallied :  the  King  remounted  his  horse, 
bearing  along  with  him  a  regiment  of  Swalandaise  caval- 
ry.    "  You  will  behave  like  good  fellows,  all  of  you,"  he 
said  to  them,  as  he  dashed  over  the  two  ditches,  carrying, 
as  he  went,  two  batteries  of  the  enemy's  cannon.     u  He 
took  off  his  hat  and  rendered  thanks  to  God  for  the  vic- 
tory He  was  giving  him." 

3  Two  regiments  of  imperial  cuirassiers  rode  up  to  meet 
him ;  the  King  charged  them  at  the  head  of  his  Swedes ; 
he  was  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight ;  his  horse  received  a 
ball  through  the  neck  ;  Gustavus  had  his  arm  broken  : 
the  bone  came  through  the  sleeve  of  his  coat ;  he  wanted 
to  have  it  attended  to,  and  begged  the  Duke  of  Saxe- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  161 

Altenburg  to  assist  him  in  leaving  the  battle-field ;  at 
that  very  moment  Falkenberg,  lieutenant-colonel  in  the 
imperial  army,  galloped  his  horse  on  to  the  King  and  shot 
him,  point-blank,  in  the  back  with  a  pistol.  The  King 
fell  from  his  horse,  and  Falkenberg  took  to  flight,  pursued 
by  one  of  the  King's  squires,  who  killed  him.  Gustavus 
Adolphus  was  left  alone  with  a  German  page,  who  tried 
to  raise  him ;  the  King  could  no  longer  speak ;  three 
Austrian  cuirassiers  surrounded  him,  asking  the  page  the 
name  of  the  wounded  man  ;  the  youngster  would  not  say, 
and  fell,  riddled  with  wounds,  on  his  master's  body ;  the 
Austrians  sent  one  more  pistol-shot  into  the  dying  man's 
temple,  and  stripped  him  of  his  clothes,  leaving  him  only 
his  shirt.  The  melee  recommenced,  and  successive  charges 
of  cavalry  passed  over  the  hero's  corpse.  There  were 
counted  nine  open  wounds  and  thirteen  scars  on  his  body 
when  it  was  recovered  toward  the  evening. 

One  of  the  King's  officers,  who  had  been  unable  to  4 
quit  the  fight  in  time  to  succor  him,  went  and  announced 
his  fall  to  Duke  Bernard  of  Saxe-Weimar.  To  him  a 
retreat  was  suggested,  but,  "  we  mustn't  think  of  that," 
said  he,  "  but  of  death  or  victory."  A  lieutenant-colonel 
of  a  cavalry  regiment  made  some  difficulty  about  resuming 
the  attack  ;  the  Duke  passed  his  sword  through  his  body, 
and,  putting  himself  at  the  head  of  the  troops,  led  them 
back  upon  the  enemy's  intrenchments,  which  he  carried 
and  lost  three  times.  At  last  he  succeeded  in  turning  the 
cannon  upon  the  enemy,  and  "  that  gave  the  turn  to  the 
victory,  which,  nevertheless,  was  disputed  till  night." 
"  It  was  one  of  the  most  horrible  ever  heard  of,"  says 
Cardinal  Richelieu ;  "  six  thousand  dead  or  dying  were 
left  on  the  field  of  battle,  where  Duke  Bernard  encamped 
till  morning ! " 

When  day  came,  he  led  the  troops  off  to  Weisenfeld.  5 


162  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

The  army  knew  nothing  yet  of  the  King's  death.  The 
Duke  of  Saxe-Weimar  had  the  body  brought  to  the  front. 
"  I  will  no  longer  conceal  from  you,"  he  said,  "  the  mis- 
fortune that  has  befallen  us ;  in  the  name  of  the  glory 
that  you  have  won  in  following  this  great  prince,  help  me 
to  exact  vengeance  for  it,  and  to  let  all  the  world  see  that 
he  commanded  soldiers  who  rendered  him  invincible,  and, 
even  after  his  death,  the  terror  of  his  enemies."  A  shout 
arose  from  the  host,  "  We  will  follow  you  whither  you 
will,  even  to  the  end  of  the  earth ! " 

6  "  Those  who  look  for  spots  on  the  sun,  and  find  some- 
thing reprehensible  even  in  virtue  itself,  blame  this  King," 
says  Cardinal  Richelieu,  "  for  having  died  like  a  trooper ; 
but  they  do  not  reflect  that  all  conqueror-princes  are 
obliged  to  do  not  only  the  duty  of  captain,  but  of  simple 
soldier,  and  to  be  the  first  in  peril,  in  order  to  lead  thereto 
the  soldier  who  would  not  run  the  risk  without  them.     It 
was  the  case  with  Caesar  and  with  Alexander,  and  the 
Swede  died  so  much  the  more  gloriously  than  either  the 
one  or  the  other,  in  that  it  is  more  becoming  the  condi- 
tion of  a  great  captain  and  a  conqueror  to  die  sword  in 
hand,  making  a  tomb  for  his  body  of  his  enemies  on  the 
field  ot  battle,  than  to  be  hated  of  his  own  and  poniarded 
by  the  hands  of  his  nearest  and  dearest,  or  to  die  of  poison, 
or  of  drowning  in  a  wine-butt." 

7  Just  like  Napoleon   in  Egypt  and  Italy,  Gustavus 
Adolphus  had  performed  the  prelude,  by  numerous  wrars 
against  his  neighbors,  to  the  grand  enterprise  which  was 
to  render  his  name  illustrious.     Vanquished  in  his  strug- 
gle with  Denmark,  in  1613,  he  had  carried  war  into  Mus- 
covy, conquered  towns  and  provinces,  and  as  early  as  1617 
he  had  effected  the  removal  of  the  Russians  from  the 
shores  of  the  Baltic.      The  Poles  made  a  pretense  of 
setting  their  own  King,  Sigismund,  upon  the  throne  of 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  163 

Sweden  ;  and  for  eighteen  years  Gustavus  Adolphus  had 
bravely  defended  his  rights,  and  protected  and  extended 
his  kingdom  up  to  the  truce  of  Altenmarket,  concluded 
in  1629  through  the  intervention  of  Richelieu,  who  had 
need  of  the  young  King  of  Sweden  in  order  to  oppose 
the  Emperor  Ferdinand  and  the  dangerous  power  of  the 
house  of  Austria.  Summoned  to  Germany  by  the  Prot-8 
estant  princes,  who  were  being  oppressed  and  despoiled, 
and  assured  of  assistance  and  subsidies  from  the  King  of 
France,  Gustavus  Adolphus  had,  no  doubt,  ideas  of  a 
glorious  destiny,  which  have  been  flippantly  taxed  with 
egotistical  ambition.  Perhaps,  in  the  noble  joy  of  vic- 
tory, when  he  "  was  marching  on  without  fighting,"  see- 
ing provinces  submit,  one  after  another,  without  his  being 
hardly  at  the  pains  to  draw  his  sword,  might  he  have 
sometimes  dreamed  of  a  Protestant  empire  and  the  impe- 
rial crown  upon  his  head  ;  but,  assuredly,  such  was  not 
the  aim  of  his  enterprise  and  of  his  life.  "  I  must  in  the 
end  make  a  sacrifice  of  myself,"  he  had  said,  on  bidding 
farewell  to  the  estates  of  Sweden  ;  and  it  was  to  the  cause 
of  Protestantism  in  Europe  that  he  made  this  sacrifice. 
Sincerely  religious  in  heart,  Gustavus  Adolphus  was  not 
ignorant  that  his  principal  political  strength  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  Protestant  princes  ;  and  he  put  at  their  ser- 
vice the  incomparable  splendor  of  his  military  genius. 
In  two  years  the  power  of  the  house  of  Austria,  a  work  9 
of  so  many  efforts  and  so  many  years,  was  shaken  to  its 
very  foundations.  The  evangelical  union  of  Protestant 
princes  was  re-forming  in  Germany,  and  treating,  as  equal 
with  equal,  with  the  Emperor ;  Ferdinand  was  trembling 
in  Vienna,  and  the  Spaniards,  uneasy  even  in  Italy,  were 
collecting  their  forces  to  make  head  against  the  irresisti- 
ble conqueror,  when  the  battle-field  of  Liitzen  saw  the  fall, 

at  thirty-eight  years  of  age,  of  the  "  hero  of  the  North, 
12 


164  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

the  bulwark  of  Protestantism,"  as  he  was  called  by  his 
contemporaries,  astounded  at  his  greatness.  God  some- 
times thus  cuts  off  his  noblest  champions  in  order  to  make 
men  see  that  He  is  master,  and  He  alone  accomplishes  his 
great  designs ;  but,  to  them  whom  He  deigns  thus  to 
employ,  He  accords  the  glory  of  leaving  their  imprint 
upon  the  times  they  have  gone  through  and  the  events 
to  which  they  have  contributed. 


SKETCH     OF     HANNIBAL. 


This  sketch  of  the  character  of  Hannibal  is  a  fine  specimen  of 
historical  description,  and  is  characterized  by  Dr.  Arnold's  scrupu- 
lous regard  for  truth.  Hannibal,  the  great  Carthaginian  commander, 
was  the  most  formidable  enemy  of  Rome,  and  was,  perhaps,  the 
ablest  general  of  antiquity. 

1  IF  the  characters  of  men  be  estimated  according  to 
the  steadiness  with  which  they  have  followed  the  true 
principle  of  action,  we  can  not  assign  a  high  place  to 
Hannibal.  But,  if  patriotism  were  indeed  the  greatest  of 
virtues,  and  a  resolute  devotion  to  the  interests  of  his 
country  were  all  the  duty  that  a  public  man  can  be  ex- 
pected to  fulfill,  he  would  then  deserve  the  most  lavish 
praise.  Nothing  can  be  more  unjust  than  the  ridicule 
with  which  Juvenal  has  treated  his  motives,  as  if  he  had 
been  actuated  merely  by  a  romantic  desire  of  glory.  On 
the  contrary,  his  whole  conduct  displays  the  loftiest  gen- 
ius and  the  boldest  spirit  of  enterprise,  happily  subdued 
and  directed  by  a  cool  judgment  to  the  furtherance  of 
the  honor  and  interests  of  his  country  ;  and  his  sacrifice 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  163 

of  selfish  pride  and  passion  when,  after  the  battle  of 
Zama,  he  urged  the  acceptance  of  peace,  and  lived  to 
support  the  disgrace  of  Carthage  with  the  patient  hope 
of  one  day  repairing  it,  affords  a  strong  contrast  to  the 
cowardly  despair  with  which  some  of  the  best  of  the 
Romans  deprived  their  country  of  their  service  by  sui- 
cide. Of  the  extent  of  his  abilities,  the  history  of  his  2 
life  is  the  best  evidence.  As  a  general,  his  conduct  re- 
mains uncharged  with  a  single  error ;  for  the  idle  censure 
which  Livy  presumes  to  pass  on  him  for  not  inarching  to 
Rome  after  the  battle  of  Cannse  is  founded  on  such  mere 
ignorance  that  it  does  not  deserve  any  serious  notice. 
His  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  his  ascendancy  over 
men's  minds  are  shown  by  the  uninterrupted  authority 
which  he  exercised  alike  in  his  prosperity  and  adversity 
over  an  army  composed  of  so  many  various  and  discord- 
ant materials,  and  which  had  no  other  bond  than  the  per- 
sonal character  of  the  leader.  As  a  statesman  he  was  at 
once  manly,  disinterested,  and  sensible ;  a  real  reformer 
of  abuses  in  his  domestic  policy,  and  in  his  measures, 
with  respect  to  foreign  enemies,  keeping  the  just  limit 
between  weakness  and  blind  obstinacy.  He  stands  re- 3 
proached,  however,  with  covetousness  by  the  Carthagin- 
ians and  with  cruelty  by  the  Romans.  The  first  charge 
is  sustained  by  no  facts  that  have  been  transmitted  to  us ; 
and  it  is  a  curious  circumstance  that  the  very  same  vice 
was  long  imputed  by  party  violence  to  the  great  Duke  of 
Marlborough,  and  that  the  imputation  has  been  lately 
proved  by  his  biographer  to  have  been  utterly  calumni- 
ous. Of  cruelty,  indeed,  according  to  modern  principles, 
he  can  not  be  acquitted ;  and  his  putting  to  death  all  the 
Romans  whom  he  found  on  his  march  through  Italy, 
after  the  battle  of  the  Lake  Thrasyrnenus,  was  a  savage 
excess  of  hostility.  Yet  many  instances  of  courtesy  are 


166  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

recorded  of  him,  even  by  his  enemies,  in  his  treatment  of 
the  bodies  of  the  generals  who  fell  in  action  against  him ; 
and  certainly,  if  compared  with  the  ordinary  proceedings 
of  Koman  commanders,  his  actions  deserve  no  peculiar 
4  brand  of  barbarity.  Still  it  is  little  to  his  honor  that  he 
was  not  more  careless  of  human  suffering  than  Marcellus 
or  Scipio ;  nor  can  the  urgency  of  his  circumstances  or 
the  evil  influence  of  his  friends,  to  both  which  Polybius 
attributes  much  of  the  cruelty  ascribed  to  him,  be  justly 
admitted  as  a  defense.  It  is  the  prevailing  crime  of  men 
in  high  station  to  be  forgetful  of  individual  misery  so 
long  as  it  forwards  their  grand  objects;  and  it  is  most 
important  that  our  admiration  of  great  public  talents  and 
brilliant  successes  should  not  lead  us  to  tolerate  an  indif- 
ference to  human  suffering. 


CHARACTER    OF    SCIPIO. 
ARNOLD'S  u  HISTORY  OF  ROME." 

The  description  of  Scipio  should  be  compared  with  that  of  Han- 
nibal, his  great  rival.  Both  were  men  of  consummate  ability.  The 
student  should  read  the  history  of  the  Punic  wars,  and  trace  the 
irresistible  advance  of  Rome  to  supremacy,  as  well  as  the  steady 
decline  and  the  final  overthrow  of  her  powerful  enemy,  Carthage. 
Arnold,  Michelet,  and  Mommsen  may  be  studied  with  great  advan- 
tage on  these  points. 

1  A  MIND  like  Scipio's,  working  its  way  under  the  pe- 
culiar influences  of  his  time  and  country,  can  not  but 
move  irregularly — it  can  not  but  be  full  of  contradictions. 
Two  hundred  years  later  the  mind  of  the  dictator,  Caesar, 
acquiesced  contentedly  in  epicureanism ;  he  retained  no 
more  of  enthusiasm  than  was  inseparable  from  the  inten- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  167 

sity  of  his  intellectual  power  and  the  fervor  of  his  cour- 
age, even  amid  his  utter  moral  degradation.  But  Scipio 
could  not  be  like  Caesar.  His  mind  rose  above  the  state 
of  things  around  him ;  his  spirit  was  solitary  and  kingly  •, 
he  was  cramped  by  living  among  those  as  his  equals 
whom  he  felt  fitted  to  guide  as  from  some  higher  sphere ; 
and  he  retired  at  last  to  Liternum  to  breathe  freely,  to 
enjoy  the  simplicity  of  his  childhood,  since  he  could  not 
fulfill  his  natural  calling  to  be  a  hero-king.  So  far  he 
stood  apart  from  his  countrymen,  admired,  reverenced, 
but  not  loved.  But  he  could  not  shake  off  all  the  influ-2 
ences  of  his  time ;  the  virtue,  public  and  private,  which 
still  existed  at  Rome,  the  reverence  paid  by  the  wisest 
and  best  men  to  the  religion  of  their  fathers,  were  ele- 
ments too  congenial  to  his  nature  not  to  retain  their  hold 
on  it ;  they  cherished  that  nobleness  of  soul  in  him  and 
that  faith  in  the  invisible  and  divine  which  two  centuries 
of  growing  unbelief  rendered  almost  impossible  in  the 
days  of  Csesar.  Yet  how  strange  must  the  conflict  be 
when  faith  is  combined  with  the  highest  intellectual 
power,  and  its  appointed  object  is  no  better  than  pagan 
ism  !  Longing  to  believe,  yet  repelled  by  palpable  false 
hood,  crossed  inevitably  with  snatches  of  unbelief,  in 
which  hypocrisy  is  ever  close  at  the  door,  it  breaks  out 
desperately,  as  it  may  seem,  into  the  region  of  dreams 
and  visions  and  mysterious  communings  with  the  invisi- 
ble, as  if  longing  to  find  that  food  in  its  own  creations 
which  no  outward  objective  truth  offers  to  it.  The  pro- 3 
portions  of  belief  and  unbelief  in  the  human  mind  in 
such  cases,  no  human  judgment  can  determine ;  they  are 
the  wonders  of  history — characters  inevitably  misrepre- 
sented by  the  vulgar,  and  viewed  even  by  those  who,  in 
some  sense,  have  the  key  to  them  as  a  mystery  not  fully 
to  be  comprehended,  and  still  less  explained  to  others. 


168  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

The  genius  which  conceived  the  incomprehensible  char- 
acter of  Hamlet  would  alone  be  able  to  describe  with  in- 
tuitive truth  the  character  of  Scipio  or  of  Cromwell. 
With  all  his  greatness,  there  was  a  waywardness  in  him 
which  seems  often  to  accompany  genius,  a  self-idolatry 
natural  enough  where  there  is  so  keen  a  consciousness  of 
power  and  of  lofty  designs,  a  self-dependence  which  feels 
even  the  most  sacred  external  relations  to  be  unessential 
4  to  its  own  perfection.  Such  is  the  Achilles  of  Homer— 
the  highest  conception  of  the  individual  hero  relying  on 
himself,  and  sufficient  to  himself.  But  the  same  poet 
who  conceived  the  character  of  Achilles  has  also  drawn 
that  of  Hector— of  the  truly  noble  because  unselfish  hero 
who  subdues  his  genius  to  make  it  minister  to  the  good 
of  others,  who  lives  foi  his  relations,  his  friends,  and  his 
country.  And  as  Scipio  lived  in  himself  and  for  himself, 
like  Achilles,  so  the  virtue  of  Hector  was  worthily  repre- 
sented in  the  life  of  his  great  rival  Hannibal,  who,  from 
his  childhood  to  his  latest  hour,  in  war  and  in  peace, 
through  glory  and  through  obloquy,  amid  victories  and 
amid  disappointments,  ever  remembered  to  what  purpose 
his  father  had  devoted  him,  and  withdrew  no  thought  or 
desire  or  deed  from  their  pledged  service  to  his  country. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SALAMIS. 
SMITH'S  "HISTOBY  OF  GREECE." 

The  battle  of  Salamis  was  one  of  the  decisive  battles  of  the 
world.  The  defeat  of  the  Persians  turned  back  the  tide  of  Orient.il 
invasion,  and  saved  Greece  to  Christianity  and  civilization.  It  was 
a  struggle  between  Asiatic  and  European  races,  between  Eastern 
and  Western  civilization.  If  Xerxes  had  won  the  battle  of  Salamis, 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  169 

Greece  might  have  become,  what  Turkey  in  Europe  is  now,  and  the 
history  of  the  world  would  have  been  changed.  The  student  will 
find  Grote's  and  Curtius's  "History  of  Greece"  full  of  interest  and 
instruction. 

AT  length  the  day  began  to  dawn  which  was  to  de- 1 
cide  the  fate  of  Greece.  As  the  veil  of  night  rolled 
gradually  away,  the  Persian  fleet  was  discovered  stretch- 
ing, as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  along  the  coast  of 
Attica.  Its  right  wing,  consisting  of  Phoenician  and 
Cyprian  vessels,  was  drawn  up  toward  the  Bay  of  Eleusis, 
while  the  lonians  occupied  the  left,  toward  Peirseus,  and 
the  southern  entrance  of  the  straits.  On  the  low  and 
barren  Island  of  Psyttaleia,  adjacent  to  that  point,  a  de- 
tachment of  choice  Persian  troops  had  been  landed.  As 
the  Grecian  fleet  was  concentrated  in  the  harbor  of  the 
town  of  Salamis,  it  was  thus  surrounded,  as  it  were,  in  a 
net,  by  the  Persians.  Xerxes,  who  attributed  the  disas- 
ters at  Arternisium  to  his  own  absence,  had  caused  a  lofty 
throne  to  be  erected  upon  one  of  the  projecting  declivi- 
ties of  Mount  JEgaleos,  opposite  the  harbor  of  Salamis, 
whence  he  could  survey  the  combat,  and  stimulate  by  his 
presence  the  courage  of  his  men ;  while  by  his  side  stood 
scribes,  prepared  to  record  the  names  both  of  the  daring 
and  the  backward. 

"  A  king  sat  on  the  rocky  brow 

Which  looks  o'er  sea-born  Salamis; 
And  ships,  by  thousands,  lay  below, 

And  men,  in  nations — all  were  his! 
He  counted  them  at  break  of  day — 
And,  when  the  sun  set,  where  were  they  ? " 

The  Grecian  commanders  lost  no  time  in  preparing 2 
to  meet  their  multitudinous  opponents.     The  Athenians 
were  posted  on  the  left  wing,  and  consequently  opposed 


170  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

to  the  Phoenicians  on  the  Persian  right.  The  Lacedae- 
monians and  the  other  Peloponnesians  took  their  station 
on  the  right,  and  the  ^Eginetans  and  Eubceans  in  the 
center.  Animated  by  the  harangues  of  Themistocles 
and  the  other  leaders,  the  Greek  seamen  embarked  with 
alacrity,  encouraging  one  another  to  deliver  their  country, 
their  wives,  and  children,  and  the  temples  of  their  gods 
from  the  grasp  of  the  barbarians.  Just  at  this  junct- 
ure a  favorable  omen  seemed  to  promise  them  success. 
When  Eurybiades  gave  the  order  for  the  fleet  to  remain 
and  fight  at  Salamis,  a  trireme  had  been  dispatched  to 
^Egina  to  invoke  the  assistance  of  ^Eacus,  and  the  ^Eacid 
heroes,  Palamon  and  Aias  (Ajax).  As  the  Greeks  were 
on  the  point  of  embarking,  the  trireme  returned  from 
the  mission  just  in  time  to  take  her  place  in  the  line  of 
battle. 

3  As  the  trumpets  sounded,  the  Greeks  rowed  forward 
to  the  attack,  hurling  into  the  still  morning  air  the  loud 
war-psean,  reverberated  shrilly  from  the  cliffs  of  Salamis, 
and  not  unanswered  by  the  Persians.  But  suddenly  ;i 
panic  appeared  to  seize  the  Grecian  oarsmen.  They 
paused,  backed  astern,  and  some  of  the  rearward  ve.- 
even  struck  the  ground  at  Salamis.  At  this  critical 
juncture  a  supernatural  portent  is  said  to  have  reani- 
mated the  drooping  courage  of  the  Greeks.  A  female 
figure  was  seen  to  hover  over  the  fleet,  uttering  loud 
reproaches  at  their  flight.  Reanimated  by  the  vision, 
the  Greeks  again  rowed  forward  to  the  attack.  History 
has  preserved  to  us  but  few  details  of  the  engagement, 
which,  indeed,  soon  became  a  scene  of  confusion  too  in- 
tricate to  be  accurately  observed ;  but  the  names  of  those 
who  first  grappled  with  the  enemy  have  not  been  left 
unrecorded.  The  Athenian  captains,  Ameinias  and  Ly- 
comedes,  the  former  a  brother  of  the  poet  ^Eschylus, 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  171 

were  the  first  to  bring  their  ships  into  action ;  Democri- 
tus,  a  Naxian,  was  the  third.  The  Persian  fleet,  with  4 
the  exception  of  some  of  the  Ionic  contingents,  appears 
to  have  fought  with  alacrity  and  courage.  But  the  very 
numbers  on  which  they  so  confidently  relied  proved  one 
of  the  chief  causes  of  their  defeat.  They  had  neither 
concert  in  action  nor  space  to  manoeuvre ;  and  the  con- 
fusion was  augmented  by  the  mistrust  with  which  the 
motley  nations  composing  the  Persian  armament  regarded 
one  another.  Too  crowded  either  to  advance  or  to  retreat, 
their  oars  broken  or  impeded  by  collision  with  one  an- 
other, their  fleet  lay  like  an  inert  and  lifeless  mass  upon 
the  water,  and  fell  an  easy  prey  to  the  Greeks.  A  single 
incident  will  illustrate  the  terror  and  confusion  which 
reigned  among  the  Persians.  Artemisia,  although,  ass 
we  have  related,  averse  to  giving  battle,  distinguished 
herself  in  it  by  deeds  of  daring  bravery.  At  length  she 
turned  and  fled,  pursued  by  the  Athenian  trierarch, 
Ameinias.  Full  in  her  course  lay  the  vessel  of  the  Carian 
prince,  Damosithymus  of  Calyndus.  Instead  of  avoiding, 
she  struck  and  sunk  it,  sending  her  countryman  and  all 
his  crew  to  the  bottom.  Ameinias,  believing  from  this 
act  that  she  was  a  deserter  from  the  Persian  cause,  suf- 
fered her  to  escape.  Xerxes,  who  from  his  lofty  throne 
beheld  the  feat  of  the  Halicarnassian  queen,  but  who 
imagined  that  the  sunken  ship  belonged  to  the  Greeks, 
was  filled  with  admiration  at  her  courage,  and  is  said 
to  have  exclaimed,  "My  men  are  become  women,  my 
women  men ! " 

The  number  of  ships  destroyed  and  sunk  is  stated  at  6 
forty  on  the  side  of  the  Greeks,  and  two  hundred  on  that 
of  the  Persians,  exclusive  of  those  which  were  captured 
with* all  their  crews.     Besides  this  loss  at  sea,  Aristeides 
succeeded  in  inflicting  on  the  Persians  another  on  land. 


172  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

It  has  been  already  stated  that  some  chosen  Persian 
troops  had  been  landed  at  Psyttaleia,  in  order  to  assist 
such  Persian  ships,  or  destroy  such  Grecian  ships,  as 
might  be  forced  upon  the  island.  When  the  rout  of  the 
Persian  fleet  was  completed,  Aristeides  landed  on  the 
island  with  a  body  of  Hoplites,  defeated  the  Persians, 
and  cut  them  to  pieces  to  a  man. 


ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT.— INFLUENCE  OF  HIS  CON- 
QUESTS. 

SMITH'S  "HISTORY  OF  GREECE." 

The  conquests  of  Alexander  the  Great  were  instrumental  in 
preparing  the  way  for  the  spreading  of  the  Gospel,  by  extending 
the  Greek  culture  and  the  Greek  language  throughout  the  Eastern 
world.  Greek  became  the  language  of  learning  and  literature  in 
the  East;  the  Old  Testament  was  translated  into  Greek  at  Alexan- 
dria, one  of  the  great  centers  of  commerce  and  philosophy,  founded 
by  Alexander,  and  the  New  Testament  was  written  in  Greek. 
Upon  his  death,  Alexander's  conquests  were  divided  among  his 
successors,  and  were  finally  absorbed  into  the  empire  of  Rome. 
(See  Freeman's  "Historical  Essays,"  and  Grote's  "History  of 
Greece.") 

1  ALEXANDER  entered  Babylon  in  the  spring  of  324,  not- 
withstanding the  warnings  of  the  priests  of  Belus,  who 
predicted  some  serious  evil  to  him  if  he  entered  the  city  at 
that  time.  Babylon  was  now  to  witness  the  consumma- 
tion of  his  triumphs  and  of  his  life.  As  in  the  last  scene 
of  some  well-ordered  drama,  all  the  results  and  tokens  of 
his  great  achievements  seemed  to  be  collected  there  to  do 
honor  to  his  final  exit.  Ambassadors  from  all  parts  of 


^  1   v    r\  s\  ft    y 

«J>- 

CTY 


HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

Greece,  from  Libya,  Italy,  and  probably  from  still  more 
distant  regions,  were  waiting  to  salute  him,  and  to  do 
homage  to  him  as  the  conqueror  of  Asia ;  the  fleet  under 
Nearchus  had  arrived,  after  its  long  and  enterprising  voy- 
age, and  had  been  augmented  by  other  vessels  constructed 
in  Phoenicia,  and  thence  brought  overland  to  Thapsacus, 
and  down  the  river  to  Babylon  ;  while  for  the  reception 
of  this  navy,  which  seemed  to  turn  the  inland  capital  of 
his  empire  into  a  port,  a  magnificent  harbor  was  in  proc- 
ess of  construction.  A  more  melancholy,  and,  it  may  be  2 
added,  a  more  useless  monument  of  his  greatness,  was  the 
funeral  pile  now  rising  for  Hephsestion,  which  was  con- 
structed with  such  unparalleled  splendor  that  it  is  said  to 
have  cost  ten  thousand  talents.  The  mind  of  Alexander 
was  still  occupied  with  plans  of  conquest  and  ambition ; 
his  next  design  was  the  subjugation  of  Arabia ;  which, 
however,  was  to  be  only  the  stepping-stone  to  the  con- 
quest of  the  whole  known  world.  He  dispatched  three 
expeditions  to  survey  the  coast  of  Arabia ;  ordered  a  fleet 
to  be  built  to  explore  the  Caspian  Sea ;  and  engaged  him- 
self in  surveying  the  coarse  of  the  Euphrates,  and  in  de- 
vising improvements  of  its  navigation.  The  period  for 
commencing  the  Arabian  campaign  had  already  arrived  ; 
solemn  sacrifices  were  offered  up  for  its  success,  and  grand 
banquets  were  given  previous  to  departure.  At  these  3 
carousals  Alexander  drank  deep  ;  and  at  the  termination 
of  the  one  given  by  his  favorite,  Medius,  he  was  seized 
with  unequivocal  symptoms  of  fever.  For  some  days, 
however,  he  neglected  the  disorder,  and  continued  to 
occupy  himself  with  the  necessary  preparations  for  the 
march.  But  in  eleven  days  the  malady  had  gained  a 
fatal  strength  and  terminated  his  life  on  June  28th,  B.  c. 
323,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-two.  While  he  lay  speech- 
less on  his  death-bed  his  favorite  troops  were  admitted  to 


174  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

see  him ;  but  he  could  offer  them  no  other  token  of  recog- 
nition than  by  stretching  out  his  hand. 

4  Few  of  the  great  characters  of  history  have  been  so 
differently  judged  as  Alexander.     Of  the  magnitude  of 
his  exploits,  indeed,  and  of  the  justice  with  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  usual  sentiments  of  mankind,  they  confer 
upon  him  the  title  of  "  Great,"  there  can  be  but  one  opin- 
ion ;  it  is  his  motive  for  undertaking  them  that  has  been 
called  in  question.     An  eminent  writer  brands  him  as  an 
"adventurer" — an  epithet  which,  to   a   certain  extent, 
must  be  allowed  to  be  true,  but  which  is  not  more  true 
of  him  than  of  most  other  conquerors  on  a  large  scale. 
His  military  renown,  however,  consists  more  in  the  seem- 
ingly extravagant  boldness  of  his  enterprises  than  in  the 
real  power  of  the  foes  whom  he  overcame.     The  resist 
ance  he  met  with  was  not  greater  than  that  which  a  Eu- 
ropean army  experiences  in  the  present  day  from  one 
composed  of  Asiatics ;  and  the  empire  of  the  East  was 
decided  by  the  two  battles  of  Issus  and  Arbela.     His 
chief  difficulties  were  the  geographical  difficulties  of  dis- 
tance, climate,  and  the  nature  of  the  ground  traversed. 
But  this  is  no  proof  that  he  was  incompetent  to  meet  a 
foe  more  worthy  of  his  military  skill ;  and  his  proceed- 
ings in  Greece  before  his  departure  show  the  reverse. 

5  His  motives,  it  must  be  allowed,  seem  rather  to  have 
sprung  from  the  love  of  personal  glory  and  the  excite- 
ment of  conquest  than  from  any  wish  to  benefit  his  sub- 
jects.    The  attention  which  he  occasionally  devoted  to 
commerce,  to  the  foundation  of  new  cities,  and  to  other 
matters  of  a  similar  kind,  form  rather  episodes  in  his  his- 
tory than  the  real  objects  at  which  his  aims  were  directed ; 
and  it  was  not  by  his  own  prudence,  but  through  the 
weariness  of  his  army,  that  his  career  of  conquest  was  at 
length  arrested,  which  he  wished  to  prosecute  before  he 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  178 

had  consolidated  what  he  had  already  won.  Yet  on  the  6 
whole  his  achievements,  though  they  undoubtedly  oc- 
casioned great  partial  misery,  must  be  regarded  as  bene- 
ficial to  the  human  race  ;  the  families  of  which,  if  it  were 
not  for  some  such  movements,  would  stagnate  in  solitary 
listlessness  and  poverty.  By  the  conquests  of  Alexander 
the  two  continents  were  put  into  closer  communication 
with  one  another ;  and  both,  but  particularly  Asia,  were 
the  gainers.  The  language,  the  arts,  and  the  literature 
of  Greece  were  introduced  into  the  East ;  and  after  the 
death  of  Alexander  Greek  kingdoms  were  formed  in  the 
western  parts  of  Asia,  which  continued  to  exist  for  many 
generations. 


THE    BATTLE   OF    HASTINGS,    OCTOBER    14,    1066. 

PALGRAVE'8    "  NOKMANDY    AND    ENGLAND." 

The  battle  of  Hastings  (fought  October  14,  1066)  was,  like  the 
battle  of  Salarais  and  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  one  of  the  decisive 
battles  of  the  world.  The  opposing  forces  were,  the  Anglo-Saxons, 
under  command  of  Harold,  the  last  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  kings,  and 
the  Normans,  commanded  by  William,  Duke  of  Normandy.  William 
claimed  the  crown  by  virtue  of  a  grant,  which  he  alleged  that  Ed- 
ward the  Confessor,  Harold's  predecessor,  had  made  to  him.  Upon 
the  death  of  Edward,  Harold  became  King  of  England,  and  refused 
to  yield  the  crown  upon  the  demand  of  William.  It  is  said  that 
Harold  had  acknowledged  William's  claim  during  the  lifetime  of 
Edward  the  Confessor;  but  the  whole  transaction  is  involved  in 
uncertainty.  The  refusal  of  Harold  to  surrender  the  throne  led  to 
the  invasion  of  England  by  William,  and  the  memorable  battle  of 
Hastings.  The  results  of  this  battle  were  most  important,  and  can 
not  be  detailed  here.  England  was  brought  into  closer  relations 
with  the  Continental  powers — her  language  and  her  system  of  gov- 
ernment underwent  essential  changes.  The  Normans  were  a  North- 


176  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ern  or  Scandinavian  race,  who  settled  in  Northern  France,  called, 
after  them,  Normandy.  Originally  pirates  and  depredators,  after 
their  settlement  in  France  they  came  into  contact  with  Roman  cult- 
ure, adopted  the  Romance  tongue,  formed  out  of  the  decaying  Latin, 
and  became  a  civilized  people.  The  Normans  were  one  of  the  most 
chivalrous  and  adventurous  races  of  the  middle  ages,  and  many  of 
the  finer  elements  of  English  character  may  be  traced  to  their  influ- 
ence. The  Danes,  who  settled  in  England  in  Anglo-Saxon  times, 
and  the  Normans,  originally  belonged  to  the  same  race.  The  student 
should  consult  Freeman's  "  Norman  Conquest,"  Stubbs's  "  Consti- 
tutional History  of  England/'  and  Pearson's  "England  in  the  Early 
and  Middle  Ages." 

1  WILLIAM  had  been  most  actively  employed.     As  a 
preliminary  to  further  proceedings,  he  had  caused  all  the 
vessels  to  be  drawn  on  shore  and  rendered  unserviceable. 
He  told  his  men  that  they  must  prepare  to  conquer  or  to 
die — flight  was  impossible.     He  had  occupied  the  Roman 
castle  of  Pevensey,  whose  walls  are  yet  existing,  flanked 
by  Anglo-Norman  towers,  and  he  had  personally  surveyed 

„  all  the  adjoining  country,  for  he  never  trusted  this  part 
of  a  general's  duty  to  any  eyes  but  his  own.  One  Robert, 
a  Norman  thane,  who  was  settled  in  the  neighborhood, 
advised  him  to  cast  up  intrenchments  for  the  purpose  of 
resisting  Harold.  William  replied  that  his  best  defense 
was  in  the  valor  of  his  army  and  the  goodness  of  his 
cause. 

2  In  compliance  with  the  opinions  of  the  age,  William 
had  an  astrologer  in  his  train.     An  Oriental  monarch,  at 
the  present  time,  never  engages  in  battle  without  a  pre- 
vious horoscope ;  and  this  superstition  was  universally 
adopted  in  Europe  during  the  middle  ages.     But  Wil- 
liam's "  clerk "  was  not  merely  a  star-gazer.      He  had 
graduated  in  all  the  occult  sciences — he  was  a  necro- 
mancer, or,  as  the  word  was  often  spelled,  in  order  to 
accommodate  it  to  the  supposed  etymology,  a  nigro- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  177 

mancer,  a  "  sortilegus,"  and  a  soothsayer.  These  accom- 
plishments in  the  sixteenth  century  would  have  assuredly 
brought  the  clerk  to  the  stake ;  but,  in  the  eleventh,  al- 
though they  were  highly  illegal  according  to  the  strict 
letter  of  the  ecclesiastical  law,  yet  they  were  studied  as 
eagerly  as  any  other  branch  of  metaphysics,  of  which  they 
were  supposed  to  form  a  part.  The  sorcerer,  or  sorti- 
legus, by  casting  sortes,  or  lots,  had  ascertained  that  the 
Duke  would  succeed,  and  that  Harold  would  surrender 
without  a  battle,  upon  which  assurance  the  Normans 
entirely  relied.  After  the  landing,  William  inquired  for  3 
his  conjurer.  A  pilot  came  forward  and  told  him  that 
the  unlucky  wight  had  been  drowned  in  the  passage. 
William  then  immediately  pointed  out  the  folly  of  trust- 
ing to  the  predictions  of  one  who  was  utterly  unable  to 
tell  what  would  happen  unto  himself.  When  William 
first  set  foot  on  shore  he  had  shown  the  same  spirit.  He 
stumbled  and  fell  forward  on  the  palms  of  his  hands. 
" Mai  signe  est  ci!"  exclaimed  his  troops,  affrighted  at 
the  omen.  u  No,"  answered  William,  as  he  rose,  "  I  have 
taken  seizin  of  the  country,"  showing  the  clod  of  earth 
which  he  had  grasped.  One  of  his  soldiers,  with  the 
quickness  of  a  modern  Frenchman,  instantly  followed  up 
the  idea ;  he  ran  to  a  cottage  and  pulled  out  a  bundle  of 
reeds  from  the  thatch,  telling  him  to  receive  that  symbol 
also  as  the  seizin  of  the  realm  with  which  he  was  invested. 
These  little  anecdotes  display  the  turn  and  temper  of  the 
Normans,  and  the  alacrity  by  which  the  army  was  per- 
vaded. 

Some  fruitless  attempts  are  said  to  have  been  made  4 
at  negotiation.    Harold  dispatched  a  monk  to  the  enemy's 
camp,  who  was  to  exhort  William  to  abandon  his  enter- 
prise.    The  Duke  insisted  on  his  right ;  but,  as  some 
historians  relate,  he  offered  to  submit  his  claim  to  a  legal 


178  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

decision,  to  be  pronounced  by  the  Pope,  either  according 
to  the  law  of  Normandy  or  according  to  the  law  of  Eng- 
land ;  or,  if  this  mode  of  adjustment  did  not  please 
Harold,  that  the  question  should  be  decided  by  single 
combat,  the  crown  becoming  the  meed  of  the  victor. 
The  propositions  of  William  are  stated,  by  other  authori- 
ties, to  have  contained  a  proposition  for  a  compromise, 
namely,  that  Harold  should  take  Northumbria,  and  Wil- 
liam the  rest  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  dominions.  All  or  any 
of  these  proposals  are  such  as  may  very  probably  have 
been  made ;  but  they  were  not  minuted  down  in  formal 
protocols,  or  couched  in  diplomatic  notes  ;  they  were  ver- 
bal messages,  sent  to  and  fro  on  the  eve  of  a  bloody  battle. 

5  Fear  prevailed  in  both  camps.     The  English,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  apprehensions  which  even  the  most  stout- 
hearted feel  on  the  eve  of  a  morrow  whose  close  they 
may  never  see,  dreaded  the  papal  excommunication,  the 
curse  encountered  in  support  of  the  unlawful  authority 
of  a  usurper.     When  they  were  informed  that  battle  had 
been  decided  upon,  they  stormed  and  swore;  and  now 
the  cowardice  of  conscience  spurred  them  on  to  riot  and 
revelry.     The  whole  night  was  spent  in  debauch.      Wees- 
heal  and  drink-heal  resounded  from  the  tents  ;  the  wine- 
cups  passed  gayly  round  and  round  by  the  smoky  blaze 
of  the  red  watch-fires,  while  the  ballad  of  ribald  mirth 
was  loudly  sung  by  the  carousers. 

6  In  the  Norman  leaguer,  far  otherwise  had  the  dread 
of  the  approaching  morn  affected  the  hearts  of  William's 
soldiery.     No  voice  was  heard  excepting  the  solemn  re- 
sponse of  the  litany  and  the  chant  of  the  psalm.     The 
penitents  confessed  their  sins,  the  masses  were  said,  and 
the  sense  of  the  imminent  peril  of  the  morrow  was  tran- 
quillized by  penance  and  prayer.     Each  of  the  nations,  as 
we  are  told  by  one  of  our  most  trustworthy  English  his- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  179 

torians,  acted  according  to  their  "  national  custom  "  ;  and 
severe  is  the  censure  which  the  English  thus  receive. 
The  English  were  strongly  fortified  in  their  position  by  7 
lines  of  trenches  and  palisades  ;  and  within  these  defenses 
they  were  marshaled  according  to  the  Danish  fashion — 
shield  against  shield,  presenting  an  impenetrable  front  to 
the  enemy.  The  men  of  Kent  formed  the  vanguard,  for 
it  was  their  privilege  to  be  the  first  in  the  strife.  The 
burgesses  of  London,  in  like  manner,  claimed  and  obtained 
the  honor  of  being  the  royal  body-guard,  and  they  were 
drawn  up  around  the  standard.  At  the  foot  of  this  ban- 
ner stood  Harold,  with  his  brothers,  Leofwin  and  Gurth, 
and  a  chosen  body  of  the  bravest  thanes. 

Before  the  Normans  began  their  march,  and  very  8 
early  in  the  morning  of  the  feast  of  St.  Calixtus,  William 
assembled  his  barons  around  him,  and  exhorted  them  to 
maintain  his  righteous  cause.  As  the  invaders  drew  nigh, 
Harold  saw  a  division  advancing,  composed  of  the  volun- 
teers from  the  county  of  Boulogne  and  from  the  Amien- 
nois,  under  the  command  of  William  Fitz-Osborn  and 
Roger  Montgomery.  "  It  is  the  Duke,"  exclaimed  Har- 
old, "  and  little  shall  I  fear  him.  By  my  forces  will  his 
be  four  times  outnumbered!"  Gurth  shook  his  head, 
and  expatiated  on  the  strength  of  the  Norman  cavalry  as 
opposed  to  the  foot-soldiers  of  England  ;  but  their  dis- 
course was  stopped  by  the  appearance  of  the  combined 
cohorts  under  Aimeric,  Viscount  of  Thouars,  and  Alan 
Fergant,  of  Brittany.  Harold's  heart  sunk  at  the  sight, 
and  he  broke  out  into  passionate  exclamations  of  fear  and 
dismay.  But  now  the  third  and  last  division  of  the  Nor- 
man army  was  drawing  nigh.  The  consecrated  gonfalon 
floats  amid  the  forest  of  spears,  and  Harold  is  now  too 
well  aware  that  he  beholds  the  ranks  which  are  com- 
manded in  person  by  the  Duke  of  NormandyA 
13 


180  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

9  Immediately  before  the  Duke  rode  Taillefer,  the  min- 
strel, singing,  with  a  loud  and  clear  voice,  the  lay  of 
Charlemagne  and  Roland,  and  the  emprises  of  the 
paladins  who  had  fallen  in  the  dolorous  pass  of  Ronce- 
vaux.  Taillefer,  as  his  guerdon,  had  craved  permission 
to  strike  the  first  blow,  for  he  was  a  valiant  warrior,  emu- 
lating the  deeds  which  he  sung :  his  appellation,  Taille- 
fer, is  probably  to  be  considered  not  as  his  real  name, 
but  as  an  epithet  derived  from  his  strength  and  prowess ; 
and  he  fully  justified  his  demand  by  transfixing  the  first 
Englishman  whom  he  attacked,  and  by  felling  the  second 
to  the  ground.  The  battle  now  became  general,  and 
raged  with  the  greatest  fury.  The  Normans  advanced 
beyond  the  English  lines,  but  they  were  driven  back,  and 
forced  into  a  trench,  where  horses  and  riders  fell  upon 
each  other  in  fearful  confusion.  More  Normans  were 
slain  here  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  field.  The  alarm 
spread ;  the  light  troops  left  in  charge  of  the  baggage 
and  the  stores  thought  that  all  was  lost,  and  were  about 
to  take  flight ;  but  the  fierce  Odo,  Bishop  of  Bayeux,  the 
Duke's  half-brother,  and  who  was  better  fitted  for  the 
shield  than  for  the  miter,  succeeded  in  reassuring  them, 
and  then,  returning  to  the  field,  and  rushing  into  that 
part  where  the  battle  was  hottest,  he  fought  as  the  stout 
est  of  the  warriors  engaged  in  the  conflict. 

10  From  nine  in  the  morning  till  three  in  the  afternoon 
the  successes  on  either  side  were  nearly  balanced.  The 
charges  of  the  Norman  cavalry  gave  them  great  advan- 
tage, but  the  English  phalanx  repelled  their  enemies ; 
and  the  soldiers  were  so  well  protected  by  their  targets 
that  the  artillery  of  the  Normans  was  long  discharged  in 
vain.  The  bowmen,  seeing  that  they  had  failed  to  make 
any  impression,  altered  the  direction  of  their  shafts,  and, 
instead  of  shooting  point-blank,  the  flights  of  arrows  were 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  181 

directed  upward,  so  that  the  points  came  down  upon  the 
heads  of  the  men  of  England,  and  the  iron  shower  fell 
wkh  murderous  effect.  The  English  ranks  were  exceed- 
ingly distressed  by  the  volleys,  yet  they  still  stood  firm  ; 
and  the  Normans  now  employed  a  stratagem  to  decoy 
their  opponents  out  of  their  intrenchments.  A  feigned  11 
retreat  on  their  part,  induced  the  English  to  pursue  them 
with  great  heat.  The  Normans  suddenly  wheeled  about, 
and  a  new  and  fiercer  battle  was  urged.  The  field  was 
covered  with  separate  bands  of  foemen,  each  engaged 
with  one  another.  Here,  the  English  yielded— there, 
they  conquered.  One  English  thane,  armed  with  a  battle- 
axe,  spread  dismay  among  the  Frenchmen.  He  was  cut 
down  by  Koger  de  Montgomery.  The  Normans  have 
preserved  the  name  of  the  Norman  baron,  but  that  of  the 
Englishman  is  lost  in  oblivion.  Some  other  English 
thanes  are  also  praised  as  having  singly,  and  by  their 
personal  prowess,  delayed  the  ruin  of  their  countrymen 
and  country. 

At  one  period  of  the  battle  the  Normans  were  nearly  12 
routed.  The  cry  was  raised  that  the  Duke  was  slain,  and 
they  began  to  fly  in  every  direction.  William  threw  off 
his  helmet,  and,  galloping  through  the  squadron,  rallied 
his  barons,  though  not  without  great  difficulty.  Harold, 
on  his  part,  used  every  possible  exertion,  and  was  distin- 
guished as  the  most  active  and  bravest  among  the  soldiers 
in  the  host  which  he  led  on  to  destruction.  A  Norman 
arrow  wounded  him  in  the  left  eye  ;  he  dropped  from  his 
steed  in  agony,  and  was  borne  to  the  foot  of  the  standard. 
The  English  began  to  give  way,  or  rather  to  retreat  to 
the  standard  as  their  rally  ing-point.  The  Normans  en- 
circled them,  and  fought  desperately  to  reach  this  goal. 
Robert  Fitz-Ernest  had  almost  seized  the  banner,  but  he 
was  killed  in  the  attempt.  William  led  his  troops  on 


182  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

with  the  intention,  it  is  said,  of  measuring  his  sword  with 
Harold.  He  did  encounter  an  English  horseman,  from 
whom  he  received  such  a  stroke  upon  his  helmet  that  he 
was  nearly  brought  to  the  ground.  The  Normans  flew 
to  the  aid  of  their  sovereign,  and  the  bold  Englishman 

13  was  pierced  by  their  lances.     About  the  same  time  the 
tide  of  battle  took  a  momentary  turn.     The  Kentish  men 
and  East  Saxons  rallied  and  repelled  the  Norman  barons ; 
but  Harold  was  not  among  them,  and  William  led  on  his 
troops  with  desperate  intrepidity.     In  the  thick  crowd  of 
the  assailants  and  the  assailed,  the  hoofs  of  the  horses 
were  plunged  deep  into  the  gore  of  the  dead  and  the 
dying.     Gurth  was  at  the  foot  of  the  standard,  without 
hope,  but  without  fear :  he  fell  by  the  falchion  of  Wil- 
liam.    The  English  banner  was  cast  down,  and  the  gon- 
falon, planted  in  its  place,  announced  that  William  of 
Normandy  was  the  conqueror.     It  was  now  late  in  the 
evening.     The  English  troops  were  entirely  broken,  yet 
no  Englishman  would  surrender.     The  conflict  continued 
in  many  parts  of  the  bloody  field  long  after  dark. 

14  By  William's  orders,  a  spot  close  to  the  gonfalon  was 
cleared,  and  he  caused  his  pavilion  to  be  pitched  amon^ 
the  corpses  which  were  heaped  around.    He  there  supped 
with  his  barons  ;  and  they  feasted  among  the  dead  ;  but, 
when  he  contemplated  the  fearful  slaughter,  a  natural 
feeling  of  pity,  perhaps  allied  to  repentance,  arose  in  his 
stern  mind  ;  and  the  Abbey  of  Battle,  in  which  the  prayer 
was  to  be  offered  up  perpetually  for  the  repose  of  the 
souls  of  all  who  had  fallen  in  the  conflict,  was  at  once  the 
monument  of  his  triumph  and  the  token  of  his  piety. 
The  abbey  was  most  richly  endowed,  and  all  the  land  for 
one  league  round  about  was  annexed  to  the  Battle  fran- 
chise.    The  Abbot  was  freed  from  the  authority  of  the 
Metropolitan  of  Canterbury,  and  invested  with  archiepis- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  183 

copal  jurisdiction.  The  high-altar  was  erected  on  the  15 
very  spot  where  Harold's  standard  had  waved ;  and  the 
roll,  deposited  in  the  archives  of  the  monastery,  recorded 
the  names  of  those  who  had  fought  with  the  Conqueror, 
and  among  whom  the  lands  of  broad  England  were  di- 
vided. But  all  this  pomp  and  solemnity  has  passed  away 
like  a  dream.  The  "perpetual  prayer"  has  ceased  for 
ever ;  the  roll  of  Battle  is  rent.  The  shields  of  the  Nor- 
man lineages  are  trodden  in  the  dust — the  abbey  is  leveled 
with  the  ground — and  a  dank  and  reedy  pool  fills  the  spot 
where  the  foundations  of  the  quire  have  been  uncovered, 
merely  for  the  gaze  of  the  idle  visitor,  or  the  instruction 
of  the  moping  antiquary. 


ENGLISH    HOME-LIFE   IN   ANGLO-SAXON   TIMES. 
PEARSON'S  "ENGLAND  IN  THE  EARLY  AND  MIDDLE  AGES." 

Anglo-Saxon  or  old  English  domestic  life  gives  us,  to  use  Ma- 
caulay's  expression,  "a  true  picture  of  the  life  of  our  ancestors." 
This  is  one  of  the  prime  ohjects  of  all  genuine  history.  The  Anglo- 
Saxons  were  a  vast  confederation  of  tribes,  who,  principally  during 
the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries  of  the  Christian  era,  had  invaded  and 
conquered  Britain.  They  came,  for  the  most  part,  from  Northern 
Germany,  and  from  the  Scandinavian  peninsula.  They  constitute 
so  large  and  important  an  element  in  English  character  and  Eng- 
lish history  that  the  term  Anglo-Saxon  is  often  applied  to  English- 
speaking  races,  wherever  they  are  found. 

IT  is  difficult  to  paint  the  home-life  of  England  in  1 
these  old  Anglo-Saxon,  centuries.     The  reproach  of  the 
fifteenth  century  and  our  own,  that  no  people  are  better 
fed  or  worse  housed,  was  probably  true  then.     The  noble 


184  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

lived  in  a  hall,  intended  not  for  defense  but  for  hospi- 
tality, with  a  chapel  attached,  and  out-buildings  for  his 
followers.  Hunting  and  hawking,  in  woods  carefully 
preserved,  occupied  the  days  of  peace.  Asser  relates  with 
wonder  that  Alfred  let  his  sons  learn  reading  before  they 
were  taught  hunting  and  such  like  "  human  arts  "  ;  and 
although  the  grim  statesmen  of  that  reign,  who  groaned 
in  their  old  age  over  the  alphabet  which  their  master 
constrained  them  to  study,  were  probably  the  last  speci- 
mens of  complete  ignorance  in  the  highest  places,  there 
is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  book-learning  ever  flourished 
much  among  the  Anglo-Saxons.  Songs  and  legends  were 
their  literature  ;  the  laws  of  their  country  their  philoso- 
phy ;  attendance  at  mass  and  at  the  different  gemotes  made 

2  up  the  whole  duty  of  their  civic  lives.     The  worst  conse- 
quence of  this  speculative  inactivity,  to  a  people  naturally 
coarse  and  gross,  was  that  they  sank  into  evil  from  the 
mere  want  of  employment ;  and  the  vices  of  the  table 
prevailed  in  forms  too  disgusting  to  be  described.     That 
the  poor  lived  plentifully  in  good  years  is  probable  ;  the 
land  was  rich,  and  the  food  simple,  barley  or  oaten  bread, 
beer,  and  pork,  being  the  common  fare  ;  but  England  no 
longer  exported  corn,  and  famines  were  frequent  and 
terrible.      There  were  large  herring-fisheries  along  the 
east  and  south  coast ;  and  Eaton,  in  Cheshire,  paid  a  rent 
of  a  thousand  salmon  to  its  Norman  earl.     The  vineyards 
which  the  Romans  had  planted  survived  Saxon  and  Dane ; 
Gloucestershire  was  famous  for  them,  and  Smithfield  was 
once   ruddy  with  grapes.      But  gardens  were  of  slow 
growth,  and  comparatively  few  fruits  and  vegetables  had 

3  been  naturalized.      The  trade  in  wool,  the  only  article 
which  was  certainly  exported  to  the  Continent,  enhanced 
the  value  of  sheep,  but  cattle  and  horses  were  probably 
more  prized  in  themselves,  and  were  certainly  more  costly 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  186 

in  proportion,  perhaps  because  they  were  more  difficult 
to  rear.  With  large  tracts  of  moor  and  morass,  and  with 
uniform  forests  of  one  or  two  varieties  of  tree,  the  coun- 
try in  Anglo-Saxon  times  was  less  beautiful  than  it  has 
since  become  under  cultivation  ;  and  the  system  of  fal- 
lows, while  it  covered  a"  large  portion  with  patches,  inter- 
posed a  wide  interval  between  different  homesteads.  Ad- 
ders and  other  reptiles  swarmed  in  the  woods,  wolves  and 
thieves  lurked  in  the  covert,  and  the  traveler  went  armed 
on  his  journey.  Yet  from  some  points  the  aspects  of  life  4 
were  more  cheerful  and  picturesque  than  they  are  now. 
The  portion  of  daily  labor  exacted  from  the  workingman 
was  as  much  as  human  toil  could  accomplish ;  but  the 
working-days  were  fewer,  less  was  done  in  the  winter 
months,  and  saint-days  and  Sundays  were  mercifully  in- 
terspersed in  the  seasons  of  fair  weather.  Games  of  every 
sort  were  the  lawful  amusements  of  idle  hours  and  of 
festivals;  we  have  lost  infinitely  more  from  the  Saxon 
book  of  sports  than  we  have  added  to  it.  It  is  melan- 
choly to  know  that  in  the  eighth  century  a  laboring-man 
was  disgraced  among  his  fellows  if  he  could  not  sing  to 
the  harp,  and  to  consider  that  one  of  the  noblest  arts  has 
died  out  in  the  class  that  most  need  to  be  refined.  In  5 
another  respect,  the  love  of  dress,  we  have  less  to  fear 
from  a  comparison  ;  though  whether  our  taste  is  improved 
may,  perhaps,  be  questionable.  The  Saxons  seem  to  have 
adopted  the  Roman  tunic,  which  reached  to  the  knees, 
and  to  have  completed  it  by  long  sleeves  for  the  arms. 
A  cloak  over  it  was  added  for  out-of-doors.  The  Anglo- 
Saxon  lady  wore  a  hood  with  long  pendants,  and  a  loose 
dress  reaching  to  the  ground.  Wool  and  flax,  with  silk 
for  the  lappets  and  the  eyelet-holes,  were  the  common 
materials,  which  the  wearer  herself  would  sometimes 
embroider.  Bracelets  and  rings  were  favorite  ornaments, 


186  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

and  both  sexes  delighted  in  bright  colors.  Unfortunately, 
they  extended  this  to  the  use  of  pigments  for  the  com- 
plexion, and  rouge  was  as  much  a  part  of  the  furniture  of 
a  Saxon  lady's  toilet-table  as  the  crisping-irons.  The 
abuse  of  colored  dresses  even  invaded  the  sanctuary  and 
the  cloister ;  Charlemagne  was  scandalized  at  the  laxity 
of  English  discipline,  and  Alcuin  and  Aldhelm  inveighed 
6  with  apostolic  vehemence  against  the  guilty  fashion.  But 
history  tells  us  that  it  was  not  stemmed  by  the  joint 
authority  of  two  saints  and  an  emperor ;  and  the  English 
monks,  in  the  times  of  the  Norman  Conquest,  were  still 
sinners  in  gay  dress,  against  the  rigid  rules  of  their  order. 
Unluckily,  our  ancestors  were  fonder  of  dress  than  of 
cleanliness  ;  the  warm  bath,  indeed,  was  a  luxury,  but  the 
cold  bath  was  a  penance  of  the  Church  ;  and  the  Danes 
are  accused  of  having  won  the  affections  of  English  ladies 
by  combing  their  hair,  by  bathing  once  a  week,  by  fre- 
quent changes  of  clothing,  and  "such  like  frivolities." 
Yet,  as  an  ivory  comb  and  tweezers,  or  scissors,  were 
among  the  treasures  buried  with  St.  Cuthbert,  we  may 
hope  that  Englishmen  of  rank  were  as  frivolous  in  these 
matters  as  the  Danes. 


THE    NORMAN    CONQUEST.— ITS    INFLUENCE    UPON 
ENGLISH    HISTORY. 

PEABSON'S  "ENGLAND  IN  THE  EARLY  AND  MIDDLE  AGES." 

The  effects  of  the  Norman  Conquest  have  been  discussed  in  the 
note  on  the  battle  of  Hastings.  Its  consequences  were  most  mo- 
mentous, and  they  have  in  some  form  affected  almost  every  phase 
of  English  historical  development.  An  admirable  summary  will  be 
found  in  Freeman's  "Norman  Conquest,"  volume  v. 

1        THE  rival  prejudices  of  Norman  and  English  writers 
make  it  difficult  to  decide  which  of  the  two  peoples  was 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  187 

the  more  civilized.  Norman  literature  before  the  con- 
quest is  worthless  ;  their  law-courts  have  nothing  to  match 
the  splendid  series  of  Anglo-Saxon  charters.  But  these 
are  rather  proofs  that  their  civilization  was  modern  than 
that  it  did  not  exist.  For  a  century  and  a  half  English  . 
literature  had  been  almost  barren,  while  within  thirty 
years  the  Italians  Lanfranc  and  Anselm  had  founded  a 
school  in  Normandy  which  was  unrivaled  in  its  own  days, 
and  which  almost  reconstructed  philosophical  thought  in 
Europe.  The  English  were  renowned  throughout  Europe  2 
for  their  perfection  in  the  mechanical  arts  and  embroid- 
ery ;  but  they  imported  their  artists  from  Germany ;  and 
they  produced  nothing  in  architecture  to  rival  those  mag- 
nificent castles  and  cathedrals  which  the  Normans  have 
scattered  broadcast  over  the  land.  It  seems  certain  that 
the  Normans  were  more  cleanly  in  their  habits  and  more 
courtly  in  their  manners  ;  their  vices  were  rather  passion- 
ate than  gross,  and  they  had  the  virtues  of  gentlemen— 
large-handedncss  and  the  love  of  adventure.  Timid  de- 
votion bound  the  Englishman  to  his  Church,  while  a  nar- 
row insular  spirit  was  separating  him  from  the  European 
center  of  religion.  The  Norman  distinguished  better  be- 
tween the  dues  of  Caesar  and  of  God  :  he  built  churches, 
and  attended  mass ;  but  he  drew  a  line  between  the  citi- 
zen and  the  priest  which  the  latter  was  never  allowed  to 
overpass.  He  connected  the  country  with  Europe  and 
Roman  law,  but  he  kept  it  free  from  foreign  tyranny. 
The  Italian  legate  or  tax-gatherer  might  venture  here  3 
under  a  weak  king,  but  the  barons  repeatedly  drove  him 
back  or  foiled  him  ;  and  under  an  able  sovereign — Henry 
II  or  Edward  I — the  see  of  Rome  was  limited  to  its 
natural  functions  of  directing  the  European  Church  and 
adjusting  the  law  of  nations.  To  sum  up  all,  England 
without  the  Normans  would  have  been  mechanical,  not 


188  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

artistic ;  brave,  not  chivalrous ;  a  state  governed  by  its 
priests  instead  of  a  state  controlling  its  Church.  It  had 
lost  the  tradition  of  Roman  culture,  and  during  half  a 
century  of  peace  had  remained  barren  of  poets,  legists, 
and  thinkers.  We  owe  to  Normandy  the  builder,  the 
knight,  the  schoolman,  and  the  statesman. 


THE    LAST   YEARS   OF   WILLIAM    THE    CONQUEROR. 
PEARSON'S  "  ENGLAND  IN  THE  EARLY  AND  MIDDLE  AGES." 

This  estimate  of  "William  the  Conqueror  should  be  compared 
with  the  elaborate  sketch  of  his  character  in  Freeman's  "  Norman 
Conquest." 

1  THE  last  four  years  of  William's  life  were  darkened 
by  the  loss  of  his  queen,  and  occupied  by  petty  wars  in 
Maine  and  rumors  of  Danish  invasion.  At  last,  in  A.  D. 
1087,  the  old  grudge  against  France  broke  out  into  war. 
The  plunder  of  several  Norman  districts  and  a  coarse  jest 
by  the  French  King  enraged  William  beyond  bounds ; 
and,  on  surprising  the  town  of  Mantes,  he  gave  it  up  to 
pillage  and  the  flames.  Churches  and  men  were  con- 
sumed ;  two  recluses,  who  lived  in  niches  of  the  city 
walls,  were  unable  or  unwilling  to  escape.  William  was 
riding  round  the  town  enjoying  the  havoc  wrought  there, 
when  his  horse  started  on  some  burning  ashes ;  the  King 
was  bruised  by  the  pommel  of  his  saddle ;  fever  super- 
vened, and  the  injury  proved  fatal.  With  the  true  senti- 
ments of  a  Christian  gentleman  of  the  eleventh  century, 
William  ordered  his  treasures  to  be  divided  among  the 
churches,  the  poor,  and  his  household.  He  could  not 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  189 

deprive  Robert  of  Normandy,  and  lie  feared  to  dispose 
of  England,  which  had  been  acquired  by  bloodshed  ;  but 
he  committed  it  to  the  hands  of  God,  and  instructed  Wil- 
liam how  he  might  best  secure  it.  To  Henry,  who  had 
received  his  mother's  inheritance,  he  bequeathed  five 
thousand  pounds,  prophesying  that  he  would  one  day 
transcend  his  brothers  in  greatness.  He  sustained  his 
dying  moments  with  the  recollection  that  he  had  found- 
ed ten  abbeys  and  twenty-three  monasteries  in  Normandy 
alone.  It  was  true  he  had  governed  roughly,  and  had 
much  bloodshed  and  some  treachery  on  his  conscience  ; 
but  the  law  of  God  had  taught  him  to  put  down  evil- 
doers, that  they  might  not  oppress  the  innocent.  Never-  3 
theless,  as  he  hoped  for  mercy,  he  would  now  show  mercy 
himself.  Morcar,  Roger  de  Breteuil,  and  all  the  prison- 
ers except  Eudes  of  Bayeux,  should  be  set  at  liberty, 
under  pledge  to  keep  the  peace.  He  at  last  agreed  to 
release  even  Eudes.  Hitherto  he  had  been  in  great  pain, 
though  his  mind  was  clear ;  but  mortification  now  set  in, 
and  he  died  toward  morning,  commending  himself  to  the 
Virgin  (September  9,  A.  D.  1087).  u^he  respite  from  suf- 
fering had  been  mistaken  by  his  physicians  for  amend- 
ment ;  but,  when  the  mistake  was  discovered,  the  very 
shadow  of  royal  state  passed  away  from  the  dead  King. 
The  courtiers  mounted  horse  to  put  their  castles  in  de- 
fense; the  servants  stripped  the  house  of  everything — 
arms,  furniture,  and  dress — and  fled.  William's  body  lay 
naked  in  the  deserted  palace  till  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen 
ordered  it  to  be  taken  to  Caen,  and  a  private  gentleman, 
Herluin,  defrayed  the  expenses.  When  the  funeral  mass  4 
had  been  said,  and  the  body  was  about  to  be  lowered  into 
the  grave,  Asselin  Fitz- Arthur  stepped  forth  and  forbade 
the  burial  to  proceed :  "  The  land  where  ye  stand  was 
once  covered  by  my  father's  house,  which  this  man  for 


190  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

whom  ye  pray,  while  he  was  yet  Duke  of  Normandy, 
took  forcibly  from  my  father,  and,  denying  him  all  right, 
built  this  church  there.  I  therefore  challenge  and  pub- 
licly claim  back  this  land,  and  forbid,  in  God's  behalf, 
that  the  body  of  the  spoiler  be  covered  with  my  turf  or 
buried  in  my  inheritance."  The  bystanders  testified  to 
the  truth  of  this  statement,  and  the  bishops  and  barons 
were  compelled  to  buy  off  the  claimant  with  sixty  shil- 
lings for  the  place  of  sepulture,  and  a  promise  that  the 
whole  of  his  inheritance  should  be  redeemed.  Prince 
Henry  has  the  credit  of  discharging  this  debt  with  a  hun- 
dred pounds.  By  a  strange  chance,  Gunilda,  Harold's 
sister,  who  had  lived  a  life  of  ascetic  devotion  in  the  con- 
vent of  St.  Ouen,  died  some  days  before  the  Conqueror, 
and  was  buried  within  a  few  feet  of  him. 
5  William  was  the  founder  of  a  line  of  princes  who 
have  never,  perhaps,  been  surpassed  in  the  world's  his- 
tory for  vigor  of  character  and  statesman-like  ability.  It 
seemed  as  if  William's  mother,  the  tanner's  daughter  of 
Falaise,  had  tempered  the  fervid  energy  of  Robert  the 
Devil's  nature  with  the  practical,  broad  sense  of  the  Nor- 
man lower  classes.  Her  son's  physique  was  an  index  of 
his  character :  the  forehead  vaulted  and  high  ;  the  eye 
hawk-like ;  the  body  broad-chested  and  sinewy ;  the  arm 
so  strong  that  he  could  bend  on  horseback  the  bow  which 
common  men  could  not  bend  on  foot.  His  training  was 
in  rebellions  and  wars,  and  he  grew  up  self-reliant  and 
implacable.  Of  the  basest  crime  ascribed  to  him,  the  as- 
sassination of  Oonan,  he  is  probably  innocent,  as  Conan 
did  not  die  till  some  months  after  the  reasons  for  wishing 
him  dead  had  ceased  to  operate.  The  severity  shown  to 
the  conquered  Northumbrians,  which  was  a  bloody  politi- 
cal crime,  admits  of  no  excuse  and  no  palliation.  But  the 
King's  treatment  of  the  great  lords  will  be  judged  leni- 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  191 

ently  by  all  who  remember  what  the  barons  of  those 
times  were  :  how  Morcar  and  Waltheof  had  been  false  to 
their  own  country  before  they  were  false  to  William ; 
how  Roger  de  Breteuil  and  Eudes  of  Bayeux  were  only 
anxious  to  let  loose  the  worst  horrors  of  feudal  anarchy 
on  the  country.  William  was  pitiless  and  unscrupulous,  6 
but  not  wantonly  cruel.  He  evicted  a  tenantry  to  form  a 
forest,  and  let  his  lands  to  the  highest  bidder ;  but  he  for- 
bade the  sale  of  slaves  out  of  the  land ;  declared  the  fugi- 
tive free  if  he  remained  unchallenged  a  year  within  a 
town  ;  abolished  punishment  by  death ;  and  tried  honest- 
ly to  do  justice  to  every  man.  Never  had  the  King's 
peace  been  so  good,  never  were  murder,  robbery,  and 
violence  so  unsparingly  punished,  as  under  the  Conquer- 
or. His  fame  has  suffered  unfairly,  because  the  strong 
government  which  he  introduced  was  less  popular,  espe- 
cially in  the  hands  of  foreigners,  than  the  disorder  to  which 
the  people  had  been  accustomed.  His  taxation  and  high 
rentals,  even  his  admirable  census,  were  thought  unking- 
ly,  and  ascribed  to  avarice  ;  yet  every  man  allowed  that 
William  kept  royal  state,  and  generously  rewarded  those 
who  served  him.  The  people,  could  they  have  under- 7 
stood  his  policy,  might  have  admired  the  man  who  spent 
a  little  money  to  keep  foes  from  our  shores,  while  he  yet 
never  compromised  England's  honor  in  the  field.  The 
castles  that  grew  up  by  town  and  strand  made  civil  war 
difficult  under  a  strong  rule,  and  foreign  invasion  a  dan- 
ger only  to  the  enemy.  In  an  age  of  gross  profligacy, 
William's  private  life  was  severely  pure.  He  found  the 
Norman  clergy  illiterate ;  and,  before  he  died,  that  prov- 
ince was  the  center  of  European  thought.  He  was  a  de- 
vout man  for  his  times,  and  one  who  attended  mass  regu- 
larly, founded  abbeys,  and  promoted  good  men  when  he 
could  do  it  without  loss  to  his  own  interests.  But,  with 


192  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

Hildebrand  for  Pope  and  Lanfranc  for  Primate,  William 
inaugurated  the  greatest  change  in  our  history,  and  com- 
menced the  substitution  of  criminal  courts  for  a  church 
inquisition.  He  put  aside  omens  with  a  jest,  and  excused 
the  sentence  of  a  powerful  bishop  with  a  pregnant  pleas- 

Santry.  There  were  few  to  mourn  for  the  iron  soldier, 
whose  tears  at  Edwin's  death  are  the  only  womanly  touch 
in  his  history.  But  those  who  remembered  the  driveling 
superstition  of  Edward's  court,  the  crafty  and  unscrupu- 
lous nature  of  Harold,  and  the  long  records  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  feebleness,  might  admit  that  the  change  to  Norman 
rule,  though  carried  out  with  much  suffering,  had  been 
good ;  and  those  who  lived  to  witness  the  orgies  of  the 
second  William's  court,  the  feudal  disorders  of  Normandy 
under  Robert,  or  the  worse  horrors  of  Stephen's  reign  in 
England,  might  well  look  back  with  regret  to  "  the  fa- 

-  mous  baron,"  who  "  was  mild  to  the  good  men  who 
loved  God,  and  beyond  all  measure  severe  to  the  men 
who  gainsaid  his  will."  It  was  doubtless  the  presage  of 
future  evil,  as  well  as  grief  for  his  old  master,  that  almost 
broke  the  heart  of  Lanfranc  when  he  heard  of  William's 
death. 


SKETCH    OF  ALFRED   THE   GREAT. 


Alfred  the  Great  is  one  of  the  finest  historical  characters  on 
record.  A  distinguished  scholar  used  to  remark  that,  "  with  the 
exception  of  Washington,  no  character  in  history  shines  with  brighter 
luster  than  Alfred  the  Great."  His  defense  of  his  country  against 
the  desperate  assaults  of  the  Danes  and  his  consolidation  of  political 
power  are  not  so  worthy  of  admiration  as  his  devoted  efforts  to 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  193 

promote  sound  learning  and  piety.  Alfred  is  remarkable  as  prob- 
ably the  first  Englishman  to  advocate  the  study  of  his  mother- 
tongue. 

ALFRED'S  fame  as  a  man  has  obscured  his  position  in  1 
history  as  a  king ;  his  grateful  people  in  the  after-time 
ascribing  to  him  whatever  they  found  of  good  or  great  in 
the  institutions  of  their  land.  Probably  nothing  has  been 
thus  attributed  without  some  real  fact  underlying  the 
mythical  narrative ;  but  it  is  not  always  easy  to  disen- 
tangle one  from  the  other.  His  code  may  be  said  to  con- 
sist of  three  parts :  The  first  is  an  abstract  of  Hebrew 
law,  indicating  the  divine  foundations  of  society,  and 
blending  the  secular  view  of  offenses  as  damage-with  the 
Christian  view  of  them  as  sin.  The  conception  of  the 
state  as  an  ideal  commonwealth,  which  regarded  the  right 
living  of  man  as  its  first  object,  is,  therefore,  due  to  Al- 
fred ;  and  he  indicates  a  standard  so  high  that  he  could 
not  dream  of  enforcing  it — the  gradual  extinction  of 
slavery,  the  duty  of  hospitality,  and  the  Christian  law  of 
love.  In  the  second  part  are  contained  the  general  prin-  2 
ciples  of  English  law,  put  down  a  little  confusedly,  as  the 
witan  sanctioned  or  the  scribe  copied  them  out.  The 
King  is  now  for  the  first  time  treated  as  the  inviolable 
head  of  the  state,  to  plot  against  whom  is  death.  Loyalty 
to  the  great  lords  is  established  upon  the  same  footing. 
The  frank-pledge  system,  by  which  every  man  was  bound 
to  give  some  guarantee  for  his  good  conduct,  is  spoken 
of  for  the  first  time  as  of  universal  obligation.  The  right 
of  feud  is  limited,  and  the  powers  of  the  courts  of  jus- 
tice are  extended.  An  over-love  of  legality,  the  curse  of 
these  and  of  later  times,  is  apparent  in  these  regulations, 
and  was  partly,  perhaps,  due  to  the  remembrance  of  late 
disorders.  Last,  Alfred  subjoins  a  copy  of  the  ancient 
laws  of  Wessex,  no  doubt  to  explain  the  customs  of  the 


194  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

south  of  England.  Unfortunately,  we  do  not  possess  a 
similar  transcript  of  the  Mercian  code,  which  was  prob- 
ably appended  to  the  copy  for  that  province. 

3  The  statement  of  popular  histories,  that  Alfred  divided 
England  into  shires  and  hundreds,  has  been  generally 
rejected  by  modern  scholars.     The  origin  of  those  divis- 
ions was  certainly  independent  of  the  central  authority, 
and  coeval  with,  if  not  anterior  to,  the  Saxon  settlement. 
.  .  .  That  Alfred  introduced  trial  by  jury  is  even  more 
certainly  false.     The  appointment  of  a  distinct  and  popu- 
lar magistracy,  to  determine  questions  of  fact  as  distin- 
guished from  questions  of  law,  belongs  to  the  Anglo- 
Norman  times,  when  Roman  law  was  studied  as  a  science, 
and  was  probably  derived  from  a  Latin  original.     It  can 
not  be  traced  further  back  than  to  the  thirteenth  century. 

4  Of  Alfred's  political  capacity  there  can  be  no  doubt. 
Wielding  only  the  resources  of  a  third  of  the  kingdom, 
he  contended  against  the  most  powerful  foe  then  known 
to  the  nations'  of  Europe,  exacted  honorable  peace,  and 
literally  enlarged  his  dominions  by  Mercia,  which  had 
been  free  rather  than  dependent  under  his  brothers,  and 
under  him  became  dependent  rather  than  free.     By  forc- 
ing his  cities  to  repair  their  walls,  he  foiled  the  furious 

5  ravages  of  Hastings.      But,  above  all,  to  Alfred  belongs 
the  credit  of  having  first  seen  that  an  island  must  be  de- 
fended by  sea.      Had  he  merely  established  a  national 
navy  where  none  existed,  it  would  be  sufficient  proof  of 
his  statesman-like  sagacity.    But  he  seems  further  to  have 
discerned  the  modern  theory,  by  which  war  is  only  a 
question  of  momentum  and  impact.     The  ships  of  the 
Danes  were  constnicted  primarily  as  transports  to  carry 
the  greatest  number  of  men,  and  as  platforms  from  which 
they  might  fight.     Alfred  built  a  fleet  on  a  new  model 
of  his  own,  by  which  the  ships  were  narrower,  and  of 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  198 

double  the  length,  and  impelled  by  sixty  instead  of  twenty 
rowers ;  they  were  thus  able  to  pursue,  overtake,  and  run 
down  the  enemy.  It  was  a  revolution  in  naval  warfare. 

Alfred's  zeal  for  learning  is  one  of  his  most  honorable  6 
titles  to  remembrance.  Incessant  war  had  made  every 
man  a  soldier.  When  the  King  looked  round  England, 
after  the  peace  of  Wedinor,  he  could  find  no  man  south 
of  the  Thames  who  understood  the  Latin  in  which  he 
prayed  ;  and  few,  indeed,  were  the  learned  men  among 
the  Mercians.  He  himself  was  probably  unable  to  read 
or  write  until  late  in  life,  though  he  repeatedly  put  himself 
under  masters,  and  perhaps  got  so  far  as  to  attach  a  cer- 
tain sense  to  the  words  in  the  little  book  of  prayers  which 
he  carried  about  him.  He  made  it  the  first  care  of  his 
years  of  peace  to  attract  scholars  from  old  Saxony,  from 
Gaul,  and  from  Ireland,  to  the  court ;  and  he  founded 
schools  at  Shaf tesbury  and  Athelney,  with  perhaps  another 
at  Oxford,  as  centers  of  liberal  learning.  Even  scholars 
as  well  as  teachers  were  imported  from  other  countries 
when  the  love  of  learning  proved  deficient  among  the 
Saxons.  But,  above  all,  Alfred  served  in  the  great  army  7 
of  learning  himself,  as  a  translator.  His  translations  do 
not  pretend  to  servile  accuracy :  sometimes  he  expands  to 
explain  a  difficulty,  or  inserts  a  fuller  account  from  his 
own  knowledge,  or  from  the  report  of  travelers  at  his 
court ;  more  often  he  epitomizes,  as  if  he  were  giving  the 
pith  of  a  paragraph  that  had  just  been  read  out  to  him. 
The  books  he  chose  were  the  best  fitted  of  all  to  form  the 
library  of  an  Englishman  in  the  ninth  century.  They 
consist  of  "  A  History  of  the  World  on  Christian  Princi- 
ples," by  Orosius  ,  "  The  History  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
Church,"  by  Bede ;  "  The  Consolation  of  Philosophy," 
by  Boethius.  The  historical  and  ethical  character  of  the 
King's  mind  is  apparent  in  his  choice  of  authors.  A 


196  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

translation  of  Gregory's  "  Pastoral  Care "  was  executed 
by  the  King,  in  partnership  with  his  bishops.  Probably 
many  elementary  works  were  issued  under  the  royal  pat- 
ronage, as  we  find  at  a  later  time  several  spurious  works, 
such  as  "Moral  Poems  and  Fables,"  recommended  by 
Alfred's  name.  And  it  is  characteristic  of  the  new 
growth  of  letters  in  the  country  that  the  chronicles  of 
contemporary  events  begin,  about  the  end  of  this  century, 
to  be  regularly  kept  in  the  Saxon  tongue,  though  scat- 
tered and  meager  notices  may  have  been  consigned  to 
writing  in  previous  years. 

8  Of  Alfred's  personal  appearance  we  know  nothing. 
His  active  life  and  fondness  for  field-sports  are  in  strange 
contrast  with  the  fact  that  he  was  perpetually  visited  by 
paroxysms  of  a  fearful  and  mysterious  disease,  which 
attacked  him .  on  the  day  of  his  marriage  (A.  D.  869), 
and  tormented  him  for  thirty  years  (A.  D.  901).  But  the 
features  of  his  pious  and  studious  life,  even  to  his  meas- 
urement of  time  by  tapers,  sheltered  in  horn -Ian  terns 
from  the  draught,  have  been  recorded  by  one  who  lived 
with  him.  In  days  when  charity  had  grown  cold,  and 
when  religion  no  longer  restrained  the  powerful,  their 
King  was  the  one  man  to  whom  the  needy  could  apply 
for  support,  and  the  injured  for  redress.  His  shrewd 
sense  was  dreaded  by  evil-doers,  and,  while  the  sternness 
of  his  early  years  was  tempered,  as  he  grew  older,  by 
courtesy,  his  wish  to  conciliate  never  led  him  to  swerve 
from  the  truth.  His  revenue  was  divided  equally  between 
the  state  and  the  Church.  Of  the  secular  moiety  one 
third  went  to  his  civil  list,  one  third  to  public  works,  and 
one  third  to  the  support  of  ambassadors  and  distinguished 
foreigners.  The  part  destined  to  religion  and  education 
was  assigned  in  equal  proportions  to  the  poor,  to  the  sup- 
port of  church  fabrics,  to  the  two  conventual  schools  at 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  197 

Athelney  and  Shaftesbury,  and  to  the  other  more  secular 
school,  perhaps  at  Oxford,  which  he  had  founded  for  the 
sons  of  nobles. 

It  is  not  without  reason  that  we  look  back  upon  Al-  9 
fred  as  the  typical  English  king.  Whether  or  not  the 
name  of  England,  as  a  commonwealth  and  not  merely  a 
province,  was  first  introduced  under  him  is  a  little  uncer- 
tain and  quite  unimportant ;  our  national  history  dates 
from  the  peace  of  Wednor.  Its  struggles  and  its  victories 
had  transferred  the  prestige  of  the  national  name  to  Wes- 
sex ;  it  remained  for  the  great  statesman  to  reconstruct 
society,  preserving  its  old  institutions,  and  informing 
them  with  new  ideas.  Both  in  his  greatnesses  and  in  his 
imperfections  Alfred  represents  his  people  ;  patient,  reso- 
lute, inexorably  attached  to  duty  and  truth,  with  a  certain 
practical  sagacity,  but  over-careless  of  logical  consistency, 
and  sacrificing  thought  to  fact,  the  future  to  the  moment. 
The  state  Church,  which  we  owe  to  Alfred,  confounding,  10 
as  it  did,  by  its  old  theory,  of  which  some  vestiges  still 
remain,  the  duties  of  Christian  and  citizen,  is  a  strange 
legacy  for  a  statesman  to  have  bequeathed  us.  The  Eng- 
lish King,  blinded  by  his  moral  abhorrence  of  sin,  laid 
down  resolutely  the  first  principles  of  religion  by  the  side 
of  the  secular  and  inconsistent  laws  of  his  people  ;  he  had 
given  them  the  ideal  of  life,  let  them  work  it  out  as  they 
could.  A  thousand  years  of  clashing  jurisdictions,  civil 
law  contending  with  criminal,  divine  theories  of  kingship 
contending  with  peoples'  charters,  laws  of  marriage  as  a 
sacrament  with  laws  of  marriage  as  a  contract,  attest  how 
that  unextinguished  torch  has  been  handed  down  through 
successive  generations.  Yet,  with  all  its  inconsistencies, 
that  Saxon  and  mediaeval  theory  of  a  people  framing  their 
life  in  accordance  with  God's  law,  and  regarding  eternal 
truth,  not  cheap  government  or  success,  as  the  final  cause 


198  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

of  their  existence,  is  among  the  grandest  conceptions  of 
history.  It  is  Plato's  republic,  administered,  not  by  phi- 
losophers, but  by  the  vulgar ;  failing,  not  from  inherent 
baseness,  but  because  its  ideal  was  higher  than  men  could 
bear. 

11  In  one  or  two  minor  points  we  may  trace  a  curious 
resemblance  between  the  views  of  Alfred  and  those  of 
later  English  society.  His  character  was  of  that  sterling 
conservative  type  which  bases  itself  upon  old  facts,  but 
accepts  new  facts  as  a  reason  for  change.  Recognizing 
slavery,  he  was  yet  careful  in  his  will  to  provide  for  the 
liberty  of  his  old  servants.  It  is  in  his  laws  that  we  first 
find  the  principle  of  entail  maintained,  and  in  his  will  he 
declares  his  intention  of  following  his  grandfather's  ex- 
ample, and  leaving  his  lands  on  the  spear-side.  His  laws 
confirmed  the  authority  of  the  nobles  as  well  as  that  of 
the  King.  That  he  opened  the  ranks  to  the  ceorl  who 
enriched  himself,  or  to  the  merchant  who  had  made  three 
voyages,  proves,  indeed,  that  his  love  of  order  was  not  the 
narrow  and  senseless  love  of  caste,  but  does  not  weaken 
the  presumption  that  he  was  aristocratic  in  his  sympa- 
thies. The  watchwords  of  modern  democracy  would 
have  sounded  strangely  in  his  ears.  Some  regard  him  as 
a  Protestant  before  Luther.  It  is  the  fondest  of  specula- 
tions to  discover  such  abstract  tendencies  in  Alfred  ;  his 
devotion,  his  admiration  of  Gregory,  and  the  wish  to  re- 
vive monasticism,  indicate  a  more  Catholic  tone  of  mind 
than  was  common  in  Saxon  England  at  that  time.  It  is 
possible  that  a  more  original  thinker,  such  as  Scotus  Eri- 
gena  was,  might,  if  called  upon  to  legislate,  have  antici- 
pated the  modes  of  thought  that  are  common  in  our  own 
days.  But  it  is  at  least  doubtful  whether  such  high 
speculative  talent  could  have  been  combined  with  the 
tact,  the  statesmanship,  and  the  success  of  Alfred. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  199 

LIFE    IN    BRITAIN    IN    ROMAN   TIMES. 
PEARSON'S  "ENGLAND  IN  THE  EARLY  AND  MIDDLE  AGES." 

Life  in  Britain  in  Eoman  times  throws  much  light  upon  the  con- 
dition of  the  island  during  the  time  that  it  was  subject  to  Roman 
rule.  Professor  Pearson  thinks  that  the  impression  made  by  the 
Roman  occupation  was  much  deeper  and  more  abiding  than  has 
been  generally  supposed,  and  he  adduces  many  instructive  facts  in 
confirmation  of  his  opinion.  The  Roman  conquest  of  Britain  was 
begun  by  Julius  Caesar  55  B.  o.,  but  was  scarcely  completed  before 
78  A.  D. 

THE  life  of  Roman  colonists  in  Britain  was,  of  course,  1 
much  the  same  as  that  of  Romanized  citizens  elsewhere. 
They  brought  into  England  the  manufactures  in  which 
they  anticipated  fourteen  hundred  years  of  Germanic 
civilization — the  tinted  glass,  the  Samian  potteries,  and 
the  sculptured  bronze.  They  were  skilled  in  the  tricks 
of  trade.  The  inscribed  boxes  of  their  quack  medicines 
are  still  disinterred ;  spurious  coin  is  found  in  quantities 
that  induce  us  to  regard  it  as  a  device  of  the  imperial 
treasury ;  and  locks,  with  contrivances  in  the  wards  which 
have  been  reinvented  and  patented  in  the  last  thirty 
years,  attest  alike  the  art,  of  their  thieves  and  of  their 
smiths.  Roman  bricks  and  mortar  have  furnished  inex- 
haustible materials  for  Saxon  towns,  Norman  castles,  and 
even  for  English  farmhouses.  The  great  number  of  the 
Roman  villas  whose  remains  can  still  be  traced  is  a  proof 
that  the  lords  of  the  soil  were  in  easy  circumstances ; 
while  the  fact  that  the  structures  were  commonly  of 
wood,  raised  upon  a  brick  or  stone  foundation,  is  an  ar- 
gument against  large  fortunes.  Probably  no  rich  man 
would  have  chosen  to  spend  his  life  so  far  from  Rome, 
and  under  a  British  sky.  Nor  can  the  towns  have  been  2 


200  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

magnificent,  even  in  cases  like  Silchester,  where  the  walls 
inclose  an  area  three  miles  in  circuit.  The  amphithea- 
tres, still  known  to  us,  never  equal  the  colossal  dimen- 
sions of  those  of  Verona  or  Treves,  and  only  one  instance 
is  at  present  known  in  which  the  sides  are  not  apparently 
of  turf.  The  houses  were  probably  thatched.  And,  ex- 
cept where  the  main  streets  ran,  giving  passage  for  horses 
arid  troops,  the  Roman  towns  were  probably  grouped  in 
continuous  masses  of  buildings,  intersected  by  narrow- 
alleys  like  modern  Venice.  In  some  sanitary  details  the 
civilization  of  several  centuries  had  told  upon  the  cus- 
toms of  the  people.  Large  sewers,  large  aqueducts,  and 

•  '>  extramural  interment  are  common  features.  At  first  the 
bodies  of  the  dead  were  burned,  and  their  ashes  preserved 
in  mortuary  urns.  In  the  third  and  fourth  centuries,  the 
Christian  belief  in  the  resurrection  of  the  body  causal 
the  old  Roman  practice  of  interment  to  be  revived.  But 
no  kindly  superstition  was  allowed  to  sanction  burial  in 
the  crowded  thoroughfares  of  the  cities.  The  dead  body, 
often  covered  up  with  lime,  was  carried  out  of  the  gates; 
and  the  great  highways  were  lined  with  tombs,  whose 
inscriptions  appealed  to  the  passer-by  for  sympathy. 

4  But  the  traveler  in  Roman  England,  who  wandered 
away  from  the  main  road  or  from  the  cities,  would  find 
himself  among  villages  which  had  known  little  change 
since  the  days  of  Conobelin.  Probably  to  the  last,  native 
chiefs,  like  Cogidubnus  of  Chichester,  were  allowed  to 
retain  the  shadow  of  their  old  royalty,  and  enjoyed  the 
loyal  allegiance  of  their  clans.  Between  the  British  gen- 
try and  the  Roman  officials  and  merchants  there  would 
be  constant  intercourse  in  the  towns,  and  at  last  frequent 
intermarriages.  It  is  just  possible  that  in  such  a  county 
as  Kent,  which  lay  in  the  line  of  traffic  between  Britain 
and  Gaul,  the  old  British  tongue  died  out,  and  was  re- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  2O1 

placed  by  a  debased  Latin,  like  that  spoken  in  the  towns, 
and  in  which  inscriptions  are  found  in  the  western  coun- 
ties. The  barbarous  Welsh  tribes  were  probably  least 
affected  by  Roman  rule ;  yet  the  terms  of  civilization  in 
Welsh  are  commonly  from  a  Latin  original.  But,  to  ac-  5 
count  for  the  great  admixture  of  British  words  in  Anglo- 
Saxon  and  in  English,  we  must  assume  that  the  natives 
mostly  retained  their  ancient  tongue.  The  argument  Is 
even  stronger  if  we  look  at  literature.  The  Roman 
legislation  favored  schoolmasters,  whom  the  prefect  was 
charged  to  care  especially  for,  that  they  might  not  be 
burdened  with  civic  offices  beyond  their  ability ;  and  we 
have  an  incidental  notice  of  one  Briton  whose  father  was 
said  to  have  been  of  this  profession.  It  is  certain  that 
the  Roman  authors  were  read  in  England ;  and  we  still 
possess  a  "  Juvencus  "  which  was  once  the  property  of  a 
young  Pictish  officer.  Yet  so  rare  and  superficial  was 
this  culture  that  Britain  produced  no  single  poet  or  rhet- 
orician to  rival  the  Gaul  Sidonius  or  the  African  Tertul- 
lian.  Only  the  name  of  one  obscure  epigrammatist  has 
been  embalmed  for  us  in  the  verses  of  a  rival.  And  6 
when  the  conquerors  disappeared  a  race  of  native  poets 
sprang  up,  whose  complicated  system  of  rhymes  and  al- 
literations and  antithetical  couplets  presents  the  most 
exact  contrast  conceivable  to  the  stately  hexameters  of 
Yirgil  or  the  graceful  trochaics  of  Catullus.  The  laws  of 
Rome,  it  may  be  thought,  would  strike  root  more  easily 
than  the  language.  They,  of  course,  prevailed  in  the 
towns  and  in  the  more  settled  parts  of  the  island.  But 
in  the  Welsh  codes  that  we  possess,  whatever  be  their 
antiquity,  there  is  no  immediate  trace  of  the  Pandects ; 
while  the  Keltic  custom  of  borough-English,  by  which 
property  devolves  to  the  youngest  son,  has  lasted  down 
to  historical  times  in  our  own  country,  and  has  seemingly 


202  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

7  been  transplanted  from  England  to  Brittany.     To  make 
a  bridge  or  cast  a  bell  was  the  great  feat  of  a  Welsh  saint 
in  the  fifth  century.    The  cromlechs,  or  sepulchral  monu- 
ments of  the  Britons,  are  known,  from  the  trinkets  and 
coins  found  in  them,  to  have  been  erected  during  the 
period  of  Roman   dominion.     More   striking  evidence 
could  not  be  wished  of  the  barbarism,  or,  if  a  milder 
term  be  preferred,  of  the  stubborn  nationality,  of  the 
tribes  in  the  country  districts.     They  saw  around  them 
the  marvels  of  Roman  architecture  and  sculpture — the 
arch,  the  statue,  and  the  bass-relief — and  they  preferred  to 
overshadow  the  grave  with  the  largest  stone  they  could 
find  in  the  neighborhood.     Three  stones,  so  placed  as  to 
bridge  a  space,  are  the  highest  achievement  of  native 
sepulchral  art. 

8  To  sum  up  all,  then,  the  occupation  of  Britain  by  the 
Romans  was  like   the  French  colonization   of  Algeria, 
with  the  differences  of  a  long  and  a  short  tenure.     The 
government  was  military  and  municipal ;  the  conquerors 
unsympathetic   and   hard.     But  the   peace   which   they 
enforced  favored  commerce,  and  the  mines  which  they 
developed  were  prolific  in  salt,  iron,  tin,  and  lead.     They 
burned  coal  where  wood  was  scanty  in  the  north,  and  in 
one  instance  carried  a  mine  under  water.     Under  Julian 
(A.  D.  358),  eight  hundred  vessels  were  employed  in  the 
corn-trade  between  the  English  coasts  and  the  Roman 
colonies  on  the  Rhine.     Before  Caesar's  time  even  the 
beech  and  the  fir  had  been  unknown  in  our  forests ;  and 
the  apple,  the  nut,  and  the  raspberry  were  probably  the 
chief  of  our  native  fruits.     The  better  half  of  our  com- 
mon trees,  from  the  cherry  to  the  chestnut,  are  of  Roman 
origin;  the  vine  and  the  fig-tree  were  introduced,  and 
maintained  themselves  •  the  pea,  the  radish,  and  other 
common  vegetables  were  then  added  to  the  garden  ;  and 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  2O3 

it  is  even  possible  that  to  Rome  we  owe  the  rose,  the  lily, 
and  the  peony.  The  mule  and  pigeon  followed  the  track 
of  the  legions.  Yet  a  country  life  was  not  that  to  which  9 
the  colonist  generally  inclined.  He  was  rather  a  dweller 
in  towns,  a  trader,  and  a  builder,  and  he  scattered  cities 
broadcast  over  the  island.  The  splendor  of  Roman  re- 
mains attracted  attention  in  the  twelfth  century,  when 
the  grass  was  growing  over  them,  and  generations  had 
already  quarried  in  them  for  homes.  Above  all,  those 
numerous  cities  had  been  centers  of  Roman  polity  and 
law.  These  influences  can  hardly  be  overrated,  nor  can 
it  be  doubted  that  many  of  them  remained,  and  even 
gathered  strength,  where  all  seemed  to  be  swept  away. 
For  good  or  for  evil,  England  was  henceforth  a  part  of 
the  European  commonwealth  of  nations,  sharing  that 
commerce  for  want  of  which  Ireland  remained  barbar- 
ous ;  sharing  the  alliances  for  disregarding  which  the 
Saxon  dynasty  perished  ;  penetrated  by  ideas  which  have 
connected  the  people  in  every  historical  struggle,  cru- 
sades, and  French  wars,  with  the  sympathies  and  hopes  of 
other  men. 


DOMESTIC  LIFE  IN  THE  MIDDLE  AGES.— CON- 
TRAST BETWEEN  THE  MIDDLE  AGES  AND  MOD- 
ERN TIMES. 

PEARSON'S  "ENGLAND  IN  THE  EAELT  AND  MIDDLE  AGES." 

This  description  of  the  Middle  Ages,  by  Professor  Pearson,  is  one 
of  the  finest  attempts  to  reproduce  that  strangely  interesting  period 
to  be  found  in  the  English  language.  The  Middle  Ages  may  be  regard- 
ed as  extending  from  about  the  middle  of  the  eleventh  century  to  the 
end  of  the  fifteenth.  The  invention  of  printing  (1440  A.  D.),  the  fall 


204  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

of  Constantinople  (1453  A.  D.),  and  the  consequent  transfer  of  Greek 
literature  and  scholarship  to  Italy,  the  discovery  of  America  by 
Columbus  (1492  A.  D.),  the  circumnavigation  of  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  by  Vasco  da  Gama  (1497  A.  D.) — are  the  great  events  that 
mark  the  gradual  close  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  the  beginning  of  the 
modern  historical  era.  Gibbon's  "  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire,"  Hallam's  "  History  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  Guizot'a  u  History 
of  Civilization  in  Europe ''  and  Guizot'a  "  History  of  Civilization 
in  France,"  Bryce's  •'  Holy  Roman  Empire,"  and  Freeman's  "  His- 
torical Essays,"  may  be  consulted  with  great  advantage  by  the 
student. 

1  A  FEW  incidental  notices  enable  us  to  form  an  idea 
of  social  life  among  the  middle  and  lower  orders  in  the 
twelfth  century.      London  was    even  then    preeminent 
among  English  towns.     The  high  houses  that  lined  the 
long,  narrow  streets  were  partly  the  abode  of  nobles  who 
came  to  attend  the  court,  partly  of  merchants.     There 
were  thirteen  conventual,  and  a  hundred  and  twenty-six 
parish  churches.     A  long  suburb  lined  the  side  of  the 
Thames  from  Temple  Bar  to  Westminster,  but  it  can  not 
have  stretched  far  to  the  north,  for  the  men  of  London 
and  Westminster  played  football  in  the  fields  that  lay  be- 
tween.    Country  houses  and  gardens  studded  the  country 
round  the  walls,  and  farther  still  were  forests,  in  which 

2  the  citizens  hunted  and  hawked.     To  a  stranger,  the  only 
drawbacks  on  residence  were  the  frequent  fires  and  the 
curse  of  drunken  riots ;  rich  young  men  would  scour  the 
streets  at  night,  molesting  the  citizens.     But  sharp  justice 
sometimes  overtook  the  offenders.     The  justiciary,  Rich- 
ard de  Lucy,  hanged  a  ringleader  in  these  disorders,  al- 
though he  was  the  son  of  an  eminent  citizen,  and  offered 
a  fine  of  five  hundred  marks  for  his  life.     A  Jew,  trying 
to  inveigle  a  Christian,  is  represented  as  telling  him  that 
all  the  wickedness  of  the  world  was  to  be  found  in  Lon- 
don :  the  gambling-house,  the  theatre,  and  the  tavern ; 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  2OS 

troops  of  parasites,  beggars,  and  sorcerers.  There  is  a  3 
brighter  side  to  the  picture.  The  citizens  were  famous 
for  their  hospitality.  Intercourse  with  strangers  refined 
their  manners.  The  city  matrons  were  modest,  and  the 
city  schools  frequented  by  diligent  scholars.  Above  all,  it 
was  "  Merry  England  "  in  those  days ;  and  in  the  metrop- 
olis, cock-fights,  bear-baits  and  bull-baits,  boat  and  horse 
races,  games  at  ball,  water  tournaments,  and  skating,  were 
among  the  amusements"of  holidays  and  the  carnival. 

It  is  probable  that  London  was  exceptionally  rich.  4 
Yet  a  traveler  in  the  country,  if  he  could  not  expect  to 
find  a  restaurant  like  that  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames, 
which  satisfied  every  want,  and  seemed  to  its  chronicler 
to  realize  Plato's  dreams,  might  at  least  count  upon  clean 
sheets,  upon  wine  or  ale,  and  substantial  if  homely  fare. 
The  varieties  of  fancy  bread  known  in  London  can  not 
have  been  common  elsewhere ;  the  men  of  Norfolk  were 
derided  for  not  knowing  wheat  when  they  saw  it,  and  the 
worst  loaf  baked,  "  fourths,"  would  barely  sustain  life. 
The  police  regulations  of  London,  and  the  stories  and 
proverbs  in  which  millers  figure,  prove  that  adulteration 
was  usual.  The  monks  of  Christ  Church,  Canterbury, 
could  entertain  a  stranger  with  sixteen  courses  and  sev- 
eral kinds  of  wine,  as  well  as  the  beer,  for  which  their 
city  was  famous ;  and  the  monks  of  St.  Swithin's,  at 
Winchester,  complained  to  Henry  II  of  an  ascetic  abbot 
who  had  restricted  them  from  thirteen  courses  to  ten. 
But  the  King  himself  was  contented  with  three  courses ; 
and  it  is  impossible  to  argue  from  rich  foundations  to  the 
habits  of  life  in  the  farm-house  or  the  hovel.  Butcher's  5 
meat  can  not  have  been  common,  when  markets  were 
scarce;  when  meat  was  salted  for  winter  in  default  of 
stall-feeding,  and  when  cottagers  looked  chiefly  to  their 
own  pigs  and  poultry  for  a  supply.  But  the  real  evil 


206  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

with  respect  to  food  lay  in  the  constant  fluctuations  of 
price.  The  mean  price  of  the  quarter  of  wheat  was 
about  £3  during  the  twelfth  century;  in  A.  D.  1196  it 
rose  to  £42  15s.;  and  in  the  next  year  to  nearly  £60. 
What  misery  these  fluctuations  represent  may  be  fairly 
guessed  by  those  who  have  seen  what  the  country  endures 

6  with  a  rise  of  one  hundred  per  cent.     Dysentery  and 
"  black  deaths "  swept  off  their  thousands  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  or  left  them  with  weak*constitutions  to  battle 
against  scrofula  and  leprosy.     These  evils  were  increased 
by  the  people's  mode  of  life.     The  frequent  tires,  and 
such  words  as  "bower"  and  "lobby,"  show  that  wood 
was  the  common  material  of  houses.     The  enactment  of 
the  council  of  Northampton  that  heretics'  houses  should 
be  carried  out  of  town  and  burned,  is  a  picture  in  itself 
of  the  low  booths  in  which  peasants'  families  herded.     A 
settle  and  pot  were  in  all  likelihood  its  only  furniture. 
Among  the  rich,  glass  windows  were  coming  into  use,  but 
chimneys  were  unknown ;  woven  fabrics  were  too  costly 
for  common  use ;  and  the  very  palace  of  Becket  was 

7  strewn  with  rushes.     The  sheepskin  was  the  dress  of  the 
poor  as  the  catskin  was  of  the  rich ;  a  night-shirt  was  a 
luxury  and  appurtenance  of  gentility,  and  even  a  king 
might  habitually  go  ungloved.     The  river's  edge  was  the 
natural  place  where  the  poor,  wanting  water  and  without 
fountains,  would  build.     Poisoned  by  marsh  exhalations, 
wasted  by  ague  and  skin-disease,  huddled  together  in 
cabins,  smoke-dried,  gross  eaters  and  uncleanly  livers,  the 
peasants  were  those  on  whom  disease  fell  heaviest.    That 
a  nation  thus  circumstanced  should  have  been  able  to  per: 

8  petuate  itself  seems  wonderful.    The  reason,  no  doubt,  lies 
partly  in  that  strange  reparative  power  of  nature  which 
meets  a  sudden  drain  by  increased  fertility,  and  partly  in 
the  fact  that  only  the  healthy  and  vigorous  lived  to  become 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  2O7 

parents.  The  puny,  scrofulous  child  had  little  chance  of 
growing  up.  Famine  took  the  weak  man,  and  the  strong 
struggled  through  it.  The  imperfect  science  of  the  times 
did  not  help  the  sickly  to  lengthen  out  life,  or  transmit  it 
through  a  series  of  wretched  generations. 

These  facts  point  to  the  conclusion  that  the  domestic  9 
habits  of  our  ancestors  were  more  like  our  own  than  is 
commonly  supposed,  but  that  they  were  far  below  us  in 
material  comfort  and  the  enjoyment  of  health.  The  in- 
troduction of  cotton,  the  substitution  of  sugar  for  honey, 
even  of  lucifer  matches  for  flint  and  steel,  are  additions  to 
general  well-being  which  no  sensible  man  will  undervalue. 
Still,  they  do  not  make  up  the  sum  of  life.  To  a  certain 
extent,  the  growth  of  comfort  has  thriven  upon  the  decay 
of  art.  The  ostentation  of  wealth,  which  once  decorated 
a  house  with  carved  oriels  or  a  stately  porch,  is  now 
diverted  to  dress,  furniture,  and  dinner  parties.  The 
public  spirit  which  built  a  guildhall  or  a  church  is  as 
unselfishly  employed  on  soup  kitchens  and  model  lodg- 
ing-houses. The  scientific  tendencies  of  our  time  have  10 
substituted  a  vivid  appreciation  of  material  wants  for 
mediaeval  idealism,  and  chemists,  engineers,  and  astrono- 
mers have  replaced  the  metaphysicians  and  artists  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  In  a  certain  sense,  no  real  progress  can  be 
one-sided.  But  a  generation,  or  even  a  century,  may 
attach  itself  so  exclusively  to  facts  as  to  lose  its  sense  of 
a  spiritual  life.  The  very  perfection  of  our  mechanical 
arts  absorbs  the  faculties  and  stunts  the  nature  of  those 
who  work  at  them.  A  man  who  labors  his  ten  hours  a 
day  at  making  the  head  of  a  pin  is  likely  to  be  less  edu- 
cated, even  though  he  can  read  or  write,  than  the  medi- 
aeval peasant,  who  was  forced  to  ply  several  trades  from 
the  want  of  skilled  craftsmen,  who  might  serve  as  a  sol- 
dier in  Normandy  or  Ireland,  who  was  bound  to  under- 


208  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

stand  something  of  the  subtile  laws  under  which  he  lived, 
and  whom  the  influence  of  his  church  trained  to  a  sense 

11  of  color,  music,  and  architecture.     The  great  principle, 
that  in  proportion  as  society  is  simple  the  individual  will 
be  many-sided,  is  truest  of  the  higher  classes.     Such  a 
bishop  as  Eoger  of  Salisbury,  who  fought  in  the  field, 
acted  as  justiciary,  was  architect  and  engineer,  and  ad- 
ministered a  diocese,  was  assuredly  the  more  capable  man,- 
if  he  was  not  the  better  churchman,  for  these  qualifica- 
tions.    Pass  to  thought,  and  the  same  fact  repeats  itself. 
All  knowledge  in  the  Middle  Ages  was  encyclopedic.     It 
started  from  a  few  principles,  it  embraced  comparatively 
few  facts,  and  a  single  lifetime  was  sufficient  to  compre- 
hend it.    Scholars  in  special  sciences  have  replaced  the  uni- 
versal monarchs  of  learning.     The  belief  that  all  knowl- 
edge is  connected  by  certain  first  principles  is  still  possi- 
ble.    But  no  man  now  can  believe  in  his  own  power  to 
codify  all  thought  and  harmonize  the  contradictions  of 
facts.     We  are  richer  by  solid  experience,  and  only  poorer 
by  a  dream ;  but  it  was  a  dream  that  gave  beauty  and 
dignity  to  the  life  of  Roger  Bacon. 

12  It  is  in  their  finer  perceptions  of  moral  beauty  and 
greatness  that  the  apology  of  the  Middle  Ages  must  be 
found.     They  were  times  of  rough  men  building  up  order 
and  law  by  painful  efforts  rather  than  by  hariiiomuu . 
insight,  and  often  dragging  the  fabric  out  of  shape  by  its 
buttresses.     The  excessive  legislation  of  Church  and  State 
produced  a  harvest   of  rank  and  habitual  crime  which 
can  only  be  paralleled  in  a  few  exceptional  phases  of 
modern  history.     The  early  proscription  of  pagan  thought 
confined  all  but  a  few  schoolmen  and  legists  to  the  litera- 
ture of  their  own  times,  so  that  Tacitus  was  supplanted 
by  Bede,  Alexander  transformed  into  a  knight-errant,  and 
Virgil  thought  of  as  a  magician.     The  great  forms  of 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  2O9 

Greek  art,  the  epic,  the  tragedy,  and  the  idyll,  were  with- 
out influence  on  the  trouveur  or  writer  of  gestes.  Yet,  13 
if  their  structure  is  often  cumbrous  and  grotesque,  the 
mediaeval  romances  are  none  the  less  informed  by  a 
higher  ideal  of  life  than  the  Greek  or  Roman  discerned. 
Achilles,  dragging  his  enemy  at  his  chariot-wheels,  the 
capture  of  Troy  by  a  perjury,  the  pitiless  courage  of  Ulys- 
ses or  ^Eneas  disappear  from  Christian  art,  as  the  whole- 
sale massacres  of  a  Caesar  or  the  scenic  butcheries  of  the 
amphitheatre  were  effaced  from  the  practice  of  European 
society.  The  Greek  Nemesis  that  avenged  the  exaltation 
of  wealth  or  power  was  replaced  by  the  orderly  retribu- 
tion of  God's  laws  upon  sin ;  (Edipus  or  Meleager  by 
Arthur  or  Lancelot;  and  that  conception  of  a  feud  be- 
tween man  and  God  which  the  passion  of  Prometheus 
displays  disappeared  for  ever  before  the  story  of  the  Gos- 
pels. By  its  very  want  of  subtlety,  by  its  incapacity  to  14 
analyze,  the  mediaeval  mind  was  all  the  more  trained  to 
comprehend  broad  effects,  and  to  distinguish  good  from 
bad.  It  had  no  moral  twilights  in  which  forms  of  good 
and  evil  blended  into  one ;  all  was  rigid  and  statuesque. 
If  the  grosser  side  of  life  found  expression  in  coarse  Fab- 
liaux and  a  Decameron,  even  these  were  as  far  raised  above 
Longus  and  Apuleius  as  above  the  sentimental  school  of 
later  centuries,  from  Rousseau  downward.  The  chival- 
rous conception  of  a  gentleman,  which  embodied  the 
active  duty  of  resistance  to  evil  in  curious  opposition  to 
theological  dogmas  of  passive  submission,  is  now  gradu- 
ally disappearing  from  society.  Yet  those  who  regret  it 
least  will  probably  admit,  not  only  that  it  was  an  advance 
on  ail  inherited  notions  of  culture  and  breeding,  but  that 
it  did  good  service  to  the  world  at  a  time  when  law  had 
no  meshes  for  the  strong. 

Even  our  advance  in  science,  real  and  great  though  it  15 


210  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

be,  is  not  absolute.  Superstition  and  intolerance  are  as 
enduring  as  human  weakness.  Those  who  have  watched 
the  monstrous  development  of  Mormonism,  and  know 
that  the  population  of  Utah  is  chiefly  recruited  from 
England,  Wales,  and  America,  may  be  pardoned  if,  for 
a  moment,  they  envy  the  uncritical  faith  that  never  wan- 
dered out  of  its  immature  Christianity.  Those  who  see 
the  upper  classes,  the  contemporaries  of  Mill  and  Fara- 
day, believing  by  thousands  in  spirit-rapping  and  table- 
moving,  may  well  turn  reverently  to  the  Acta  Sanctorum. 
Often  puerile,  sometimes  gross,  sometimes  even  un-Chris- 
tian,  the  legends  of  the  mediaeval  saints  are  only  illustra- 
tions of  a  rational  faith  in  God's  personal  character  and 
intervention ;  they  do  not  contradict  the  philosophy  of 
16  their  times.  The  laws  of  causation  and  gravitation  had 
not  then  been  developed  by  an  illustrious  line  of  thinkers. 
Yet,  although  a  contrast  like  this  may  teach  us  to  boast 
less  confidently  of  progress,  it  is  really  in  our  favor.  Tiie 
master  of  ancient  thinkers  was  as  credulous  in  the  region 
of  the  supernatural  as  his  pupils.  Among  ourselves  there 
is  a  constantly-widening  circle  of  the  enlightened,  which 
restrains  the  half-educated  world  from  relapsing  into  bar- 
barism. The  same  argument  applies  to  toleration.  The 
spirit  that  branded  Bishop  Butler  and  Burke  as  concealed 
papists,  that  instigated  the  burning  of  Priestley's  house, 
and  deprived  Shelley  of  his  children,  is  not  less  deplor- 
able in  itself  than  the  violence  that  massacred  Jews  or 
headed  a  crusade  against  the  Albigenses.  But  the  belief 
that  persecution  is  the  witness  of  earthly  power  to  God's 
truth  unhappily  darkened  the  noblest  minds  of  the  Mid- 
17  die  Ages.  A  few,  chiefly  among  the  clergy,  protested 
against  it,  but  the  greatest  kings  of  Europe,  St.  Louis  and 
Edward  I,  thought  it  right  to  anticipate  future  judgment 
upon  earth.  Among  ourselves  there  is  still,  no  doubt,  a 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  211 

torpid  mass  of  bigotry,  but  it  is  restrained  from  all  but 
occasional  outbursts  by  the  righteous  principles  that  long 
experience  has  worked  into  the  public  sense  of  Europe. 
The  few  active  fanatics  that  still  exist  within  the  four 
seas  number  not  a  single  statesman  or  man  of  learning  in 
their  ranks,  and  owe  their  power  of  annoyance  to  un- 
scrupulous slander  and  immoral  political  partisanship. 
One  by  one  the  persecuting  statutes,  which  intolerance 
developed  from  precedents  in  the  last  worst  times  of  the 
Mediaeval  Church,  are  disappearing  from  the  English 
statute  book. 

Until  the  Middle  Ages  are  examined  with  a  little  of  18 
that  care  which  is  freely  lavished  on  Greek  and  Roman 
antiquity,  it  will  be  difficult  for  all  but  students  to  under- 
stand the  singular  fascination  of  centuries  when  the  new 
life  of  a  new  world  was  dawning.  There  is  a  complete- 
ness about  the  classical  epoch  which  no  later  period  can 
reproduce.  The  politics  of  Athens  and  Rome  were 
scarcely  traversed  by  religious  influences,  and  their  states- 
men never  halt  between  two  opinions.  The  strife  of  old 
and  new  was  so  imperceptible  that  the  philosopher,  who, 
more  than  any  other,  substituted  a  higher  faith  for  the 
worn-out  mythology,  enjoined  in  his  supreme  agony  a 
conventional  sacrifice  to  an  inferior  god.  The  subtiler!9 
sense  of  modern  times  that  finds  beauty  and  repose 
throughout  Nature  was,  perhaps,  wanting  to  the  Greek, 
but  his  human  appreciations  were  more  complete ;  he  saw 
only  the  charm  of  outline  and  luxuriance  of  growth,  where 
the  Christian  started  back  from  the  traces  of  sin  ;  and  the 
marble  was  lifelike  under  the  sculptor's  hands,  because 
tree  and  fountain  and  stream  were  instinct  with  a  spiritual 
humanity.  Moreover,  time,  who  is  a  great  artist,  has 
taken  away  whatever  was  gross  and  perishable  in  the 
work  of  those  sensuous  generations,  and  left  the  better 


212  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

part  in  the  serene  light  of  immortality.  We  see  their 
temples  without  the  smoke  and  revel  of  Cotyttian  orgies, 
and  think  of  their  statues  without  inlaid  ivory  or  gaudy 

20  coloring.     But  we  have  not  thus  risen  above  the  Middle 
Ages.     Their  laws  are  behind  us  and  around  ;  their  faith 
suffers  by  comparison  because  we  have  partly  changed  it ; 
and,  while  the  classical  enthusiasts  who  have  offered  gar- 
lands to  Jupiter  in  modern  times  only  serve  to  point  an 
epigram,  the  man  who  looks  back  toward  St.  Louis  of 
Dante  is  suspected  of  wishing  to  bind  the  world's  chariot- 
wheels.     The  Middle  Ages  will  be  estimated  more  fairly 
as  it  becomes  increasingly  certain  that  they  can  never 
be  restored.     Contrasted  with  ancient  society,  they  want 
the  genuine  scientific  spirit  that  produced  treatises  like 
the  Politics  and  elaborated  an  organic  system  of  law  ;  their 
literary  art  is  commonly  overpowered  by  its  material ; 
and  in  statuary  and  music  they  added  nothing  to  the 

21  world's  wealth.     But  if  they  explored  no  new  regions  in 
abstract  thought,  they  harmonized  philosophy  and  faith 
with  a  success  that  has  never  yet  been  rivaled  ;  they  pro- 
duced  one  poem — the  Divina  Com  media — which  is  as 
deep  and  various  as  the  many-colored  humanity  it  reflects ; 
and  they  had  an  undergrowth  of  romance  and  religious 
legend  which,  for  moral  insight  and  play  of  fancy,  inaj 
compare  with  any  mythology.     They  carved  dreams  in 
stone,  and   lighted  up   the    church  walls  or  the  missal 
with  a  lavish  wealth  of  portraiture.     Trammeled  by  the 
imperfect  science  they  had  inherited,  they  yet  created 
chemistry,  applied  it  to  war  with  terrible  results,  and  at 
last  introduced  the  new  order  in  which  they  passed  away 
by  an  invention  to  multiply  the  learning  they  craved  for. 
The  science  of  banking  and  the  laws  of  commerce  are  of 

22  mediaeval  origin.     Even  greater  has  been  the  influence  of 
these  times  upon  society.     The  gladiator,  the  parasite^ 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  213 

and  the  slave  have  disappeared.  The  vulgar  riot  and 
debauchery,  which  scarcely  disgraced  an  Alcibiades  or  a 
Caesar,  have  been  exchanged  for  the  higher  ideal  of  a 
Bayard  or  a  Sydney.  In  one  respect  the  conditions  of 
early  life  favored  an  exceptional  eminence  in  individuals. 
A  William  the  Conqueror  or  Simon  de  Montfort  could 
leave  his  mark  more  visibly  upon  society  than  a  modern 
sovereign  or  statesman  who  rather  adjusts  rival  forces 
than  controls  them.  The  advance  of  general  intelligence 
has,  in  this  instance,  taken  away  a  picturesque  feature  of 
history.  And  as  we  are  the  poorer  by  a  little  hero  wor- 
ship, we  have  also  gained  by  experience  a  certain  distrust 
in  systems  as  an  education  for  humanity.  We  no  longer  23 
conceive  law  as  penetrating  human  life  in  every  direction, 
or  attempt  to  school  the  citizen  in  his  daily  work,  or  in 
morality  and  faith.  No  one  thoroughly  realizing  the 
comprehensive  links  of  mediaeval  police,  or  the  full  extent 
of  regulations  which  bound  the  peasant  to  the  soil,  con- 
trolled the  mechanic  at  his  trade,  and  imposed  recognized 
limits  on  speculation,  can  believe  that  such  an  order  will 
ever  again  be  possible  till  the  course  of  the  world  be  ar- 
rested. Yet  the  spectacle  of  childlike  men  working  out 
their  political  Utopia,  and  building  up  painfully  again  as 
the  baseless  fabric  fell  down,  is  not  without  its  teaching 
or  its  interest  for  our  own  days.  We  can  look  back  on  it 
as  the  old  man  reverts  to  the  day-dreams  and  aspirations 
of  youth,  rather  wondering  at  the  buoyant  energy  that 
imagined  or  attempted,  than  contemptuous  of  the  unsub- 
stantial design  that  failed. 


214  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

SKETCH   OF   LORD   FALKLAND. 
CLARENDON'S  "HISTORY  OF  THE  REBELLION." 

Lord  Falkland  was  one  of  the  most  accomplished  Englishmen 
of  Charles  Fs  time,  a  scholar  as  well  as  a  soldier.  The  character 
of  the  great  civil  war  in  which  he  lost  his  life  has  heen  elsewhere 
explained. 

1  IN  this  unhappy  battle  (of  Newbury)  was  slain  the 
Lord  Viscount  Falkland,  a  person  of  such  prodigious  parts 
of  learning  and  knowledge,  of  that  inimitable  sweetness 
and  delight  in  conversation,  of  so  flowing  and  obliging  a 
humanity  and  goodness  to  mankind,  and  of  that  primitive 
simplicity  and  integrity  of  life,  that,  if  there  were  no  other 
brand  upon  this  odious  and  accursed  civil  war  than  that 
single  loss,  it  must  be  most  infamous  and  execrable  to  all 
posterity. 

Turpe  mori,  post  te,  solo  non  posse  dolore. 

2  Before  this  parliament,  his  condition  of  life  was  so 
happy  that  it  was  hardly  capable  of  improvement.     Be- 
fore he  came  to  be  twenty  years  of  age  he  was  master  of 
a  noble  fortune,  which  descended  to  him  by  the  gift  of  a 
grandfather,  without  passing  through  his  father  or  moth- 
er, who  were  then  both  alive,  and  not  well  enough  con- 
tented to  find  themselves  passed  by  in  the  descent.     His 
education  for  some  years  had  been  in  Ireland,  where  his 
father  was  lord-deputy ;  so  that,  when  he  returned  into 
England  to  the  possession  of  his  fortune,  he  was  unen- 
tangled  with  any  acquaintance  or  friends,  which  usually 
grow  up  by  the  custom  of  conversation,  and,  therefore, 
was  to  make  a  pure  election  of  his  company,  which  he 
chose  by  other  rules  than  were  prescribed  to  the  young 
nobility  of  that  time.     And  it  can  not  be  denied,  though 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  215 

he  admitted  some  few  to  his  friendship  for  the  agreeable- 
ness  of  their  natures,  and  their  undoubted  affection  to 
him,  that  his  familiarity  and  friendship  for  the  most  part 
was  with  men  of  the  most  eminent  and  sublime  parts, 
and  of  untouched  reputation  in  point  of  integrity,  and 
such  men  had  a  title  to  his  bosom. 

He  was  a  great  cherisher  of  wit,  and  fancy,  and  good  3 
parts  in  any  man;  and  if  he  found  them  clouded  with 
poverty  or  want,  a  most  liberal  and  bountiful  patron  tow- 
ard them,  even  above  his  fortune,  of  which,  in  those 
administrations,  he  was  such  a  dispenser  as  if  he  had  been 
trusted  with  it  to  such  uses ;  and  if  there  had  been  the 
least  of  vice  in  his  expense,  he  might  have  been  thought 
too  prodigal.  He  was  constant  and  pertinacious  in  what- 
soever he  resolved  to  do,  and  not  to  be  wearied  by  any 
pains  that  were  necessary  to  that  end.  And,  therefore, 
having  once  resolved  not  to  see  London,  which  he  loved 
above  all  places,  till  he  had  perfectly  learned  the  Greek 
tongue,  he  went  to  his  own  house  in  the  country  and  pur- 
sued it  with  that  indefatigable  industry  that  it  will  not 
be  believed  in  how  short  a  time  he  was  master  of  it,  and 
accurately  read  all  the  Greek  historians. 

In  this  time,  his  house  being  within  little  more  than  4 
ten  miles  of  Oxford,  he  contracted  familiarity  and  friend- 
ship with  the  most  polite  and  accurate  men  of  that  uni- 
versity, who  found  such  an  immenseness  of  wit,  and  such 
a  solidity  of  judgment  in  him,  so  infinite  a  fancy  bound 
in  by  most  logical  ratiocination,  such  a  vast  knowledge, 
that  he  was  not  ignorant  in  anything,  yet  such  an  exces- 
sive humility,  as  if  he  had  known  nothing,  that  they  fre- 
quently resorted  and  dwelt  with  him  as  in  a  college 
situated  in  a  purer  air ;  so  that  his  house  was  a  university 
in  a  less  volume,  whither  they  came  not  so  much  for  re- 
pose as  study,  and  to  examine  and  refine  those  grosser 


216  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

propositions  which  laziness  and  consent  made  current  in 
vulgar  conversation.  .  .  . 

5  He  was  superior  to  all  those  passions  and  affections 
which  attend  vulgar  minds,  and  was  guilty  of  no  other 
ambition  than  of  knowledge,  and  to  be  reputed  a  lover 
of  all  good  men ;  and  that  made  him  too  much  a  con- 
temner  of  those  arts  which  must  be  indulged  in  the 
transactions  of  human  affairs.     In  the  last  Short  Parlia- 
ment he  was  a  burgess  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
from  the  debates,  which  were  there  managed  with  all 
imaginable  gravity  and  sobriety,  he  contracted  such  a 
reverence  to  parliaments  that  he  thought  it  really  impos- 
sible they  could  ever  produce  mischief  or  inconvenience 
to  the  kingdom,  or  that  the  kingdom  could  be  tolerably 
happy  in  the  intermission  of  them.  .  .  . 

6  The  great  opinion  he  had  of  the  uprightness  and  in- 
tegrity of  those  persons  who  appeared  most  active,  espe- 
cially of  Mr.  Hampden,  kept  him  longer  from  suspecting 
any  design  against  the  peace  of  the  kingdom  ;  and  though 
he  differed  from  them  commonly  in  conclusions,  he  be- 
lieved long  their  purposes  were  honest.     When  he  grew 
better  informed  what  was  law,  and  discerned  in  them  a 
desire  to  control  that  law  by  a  vote  of  one  or  both  Houses, 
no  man  more  opposed  those  attempts,  and  gave  the  ad- 
verse party  more  trouble  by  reason  and  argumentation ; 
insomuch  as  he  was  by  degrees  looked  upon  as  an  advo- 
cate for  the  court,  to  which  he  contributed  so  little  that  he 
declined  those  addresses,  and  even  those  invitations  which 

7  he  was  obliged  almost  by  civility  to  entertain.     And  he 
was  so  jealous  of  the  least  imagination  that  he  should  in- 
cline to  preferment,  that  he  affected  even  a  moroseness 
to  the  court  and  to  the  courtiers,  and  left  nothing  undone 
which  might  prevent  and  divert  the  King's  or  Queen's 
favor  toward  him  but  the  deserving  it.     For  when  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  217 

King  sent  for  him  once  or  twice  to  speak  with  him,  and 
to  give  him  thanks  for  his  excellent  comportment  in 
those  councils,  which  his  Majesty  graciously  termed 
"doing  him  service,"  his  answers  were  more  negligent 
and  less  satisfactory  than  might  be  expected;  as  if  he 
cared  only  that  his  actions  should  be  just,  not  that  they 
should  be  acceptable ;  and  that  his  Majesty  should  think 
that  they  proceeded  only  from  the  impulsion  of  con- 
science, without  any  sympathy  in  his  affections. 

He  had  a  courage  of  the  most  clear  and  keen  temper,  8 
and  so  far  from  fear  that  he  seemed  not  without  some 
appetite  of  danger;  and,  therefore,  upon  any  occasion 
of  action,  he  always  engaged  his  person  in  those  troops 
which  he  thought,  by  the  forwardness  of  the  command- 
ers, to  be  most  like  to  be  farthest  engaged ;  and,  in  all 
such  encounters,  he  had  about  him  an  extraordinary  cheer- 
fulness, without  at  all  affecting  the  execution  that  usually 
attended  them ;  in  which  he  took  no  delight,  but  took 
pains  to  prevent  it,  where  it  was  not  by  resistance  made 
necessary ;  insomuch  that,  at  Edgehill,  when  the  enemy 
wTas  routed,  he  was  like  to  have  incurred  great  peril  by 
interposing  to  save  those  who  had  thrown  away  their 
arms,  and  against  whom,  it  may  be,  others  were  more 
fierce  for  their  having  thrown  them  away  ;  so  that  a  man 
might  think  he  came  into  the  field  chiefly  out  of  curiosity, 
to  see  the  face  of  danger,  and  charity,  to  prevent  the 
shedding  of  blood. 

Yet,  in  his  natural  inclination,  he  acknowledged  he  9 
was  addicted  to  the  profession  of  a  soldier ;  and,  shortly 
after  he  came  to  his  fortune,  before  he  was  of  age,  he 
went  into  the  Low  Countries,  with  a  resolution  of  pro- 
curing command,  and  to  give  himself  up  to  it;  from 
which  he  was  diverted  by  the  complete  inactivity  of  that 
summer ;  so  he  returned  to  England,  and  shortly  after 


218  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

entered  upon  that  vehement  course  of  study  we  men- 
tioned before,  till  the  first  alarm  from  the  north ;  then 
again  he  made  ready  for  the  field,  and,  though  he  re- 
ceived some  repulse  in  the  command  of  a  troop  of  horse, 
of  which  he  had  a  promise,  he  went  a  volunteer  with  the 
Earl  of  Essex. 

10  From  the  entrance  into  this  unnatural  war  his  natural 
cheerfulness  and  vivacity  grew  clouded,  and  a  kind  of 
sadness  and  dejection  of  spirit  stole  upon  him  which  he 
had  never  been  used  to ;  yet,  being  one  of  those  who  be- 
lieved that  one  battle  would  end  all  differences,  and  that 
there  would  be  so  great  a  victory  on  one  side  that  the 
other  would  be  compelled  to  submit  to  any  conditions 
from  the  victor — which  supposition  and  conclusion  gen- 
erally sunk  into  the  minds  of  most  men,  and  prevented 
the  looking  after  many  advantages  that  might  then  have 
been  laid  hold  of — he  resisted  those  indispositions. 

11  But,  after  the  King's  return  from  Brentford,  and  the 
furious  resolution  of  the  two  Houses  not  to  admit  any 
treaty  for  peace,  those  indispositions,  which  had  before 
touched  him,  grew  into  a  perfect  habit  of  uncheerful- 
ness,  and  he,  who  had  been  so  exactly  easy  and  affable  to 
all  men,  that  his  face  and  countenance  was  always  present 
and  vacant  to  his  company,  and  held  any  cloudiness  and 
less  pleasantness  of  the  visage  a  kind  of  rudeness  or  in- 
civility, became  on   a  sudden  less  communicable,  and 
thence  very  sad,  pale,  and  exceedingly  affected  with  the 
spleen.     In  his  clothes  and  habit,  which  he  had  minded 
before  always  with  more  neatness  and  industry  and  ex- 
pense than  is  usual  to  so  great  a  soul,  he  was  not  now 
only  incurious,  but  too  negligent ;  and,  in  his  reception 
of  suitors,  and  the  necessary  or  casual  addresses  to  his 
place,  so  quick  and  sharp  and  severe  that  there  wanted 
not  some  men — strangers  to  his  nature  and  disposition — 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  219 

who  believed  him  proud  and  imperious ;  from  which  no 
mortal  man  was  ever  more  free.  .  .  . 

When  there  was  any  overture  or  hope  of  peace,  he  12 
would  be  more  erect  and  vigorous,  and  exceedingly  so- 
licitous to  press  anything  which  he  thought  might  pro- 
mote it ;  and,  sitting  among  his  friends,  often  after  a 
deep  silence  and  frequent  sighs,  would,  with  a  shrill  and 
sad  accent,  ingeminate  the  word  "  Peace !  peace  ! "  and 
would  passionately  profess  "  that  the  very  agony  of  the 
war,  and  the  view  of  the  calamities  and  desolation  the 
kingdom  did  and  must  endure,  took  his  sleep  from  him, 
and  would  shortly  break  his  heart."  This  made  some 
think,  or  pretend  to  think,  "that  he  was  so  much  enam- 
ored of  peace  that  he  would  have  been  glad  the  King 
should  have  bought  it  at  any  price,"  which  was  a  most 
unreasonable  calumny.  As  if  a  man,  that  was  himself 
the  most  punctual  and  precise  in  every  circumstance 
that  might  reflect  upon  conscience  or  honor,  could  have 
wished  the  King  to  have  committed  a  trespass  against 
either!  .  .  . 

In  the  morning  before  the  battle,  as  always  upon  13 
action,  he  was  very  cheerful,  and  put  himself  into  the 
first  rank  of  the  Lord  Byron's  regiment,  then  advancing 
upon  the  enemy,  who  had  lined  the  hedges  on  both 
sides  with  musketeers,  from  whence  he  was  shot  with  a 
musket-ball,  and  in  the  instant  falling  from  his  horse,  his 
body  was  not  found  till  the  next  morning ;  till  when, 
there  was  some  hope  he  might  have  been  a  prisoner, 
though  his  nearest  friends,  who  knew  his  temper,  received 
small  comfort  from  that  imagination. 

Thus  fell  that  incomparable  young  man,  in  the  four- 14 
and-thirtieth  year  of  his  age,  having  so  much  dispatched 
the  true  business  of  life  that  the  eldest  rarely  attain  to  that 
immense  knowledge,  and  the  youngest  enter  not  into  the 


220  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

world  with  more  innocency.  Whosoever  leads  such  a  life 
needs  be  the  less  anxious  upon  how  short  warning  it  is 
taken  from  him. 


DEATH   AND   CHARACTER   OF   EDWARD  VI. 
BURNET'S  "HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION." 

Burnet's  sketch  of  Edward  VI  is  both  interesting  and  touching. 
Edward  VI  was  the  son  of  Henry  VIII  and  Jane  Seymour,  the  suc- 
cessor of  Anne  Boleyn  in  Henry's  affections.  History  presents 
few  brighter  examples  than  the  boy  king,  Edward  VI. 

1  IN  the  beginning  of  January  this  year  (1553)  he  was 
seized  with  a  deep  cough,  and  all  medicines  that  AVI  in- 
used  did  rather  increase  than  lessen  it.     He  was  so  ill 
when  the  Parliament  met  that  he  was  not  able  to  go  to 
Westminster,  but  ordered  their  first  meeting  and  the  ser- 
mon to  be  at  Whitehall.     In  the  time  of  his  sickm-s 
Bishop  Ridley  preached  before  him,  and  took  occasion  to 
run  out  much  on  works  of  charity,  and  the  obligation 
that  lay  on  men  of  high  condition  to  be  eminent  in  good 
works.     This  touched  the  King  to  the  quick;   so  that, 
presently  after  the  sermon,  he  sent  for  the  Bishop.    An<l, 
after  he  had  commanded  him  to  sit  down  by  him,  and  be 
covered,  he  resumed  most  of  the  heads  of  the  sermon,  and 
said  he  looked  upon  himself  as  chiefly  touched  by  it.    He 
desired  him,  as  he  had  already  given  him  the  exhorta- 
tion in  general,  so  to  direct  him  to  do  his  duty  in  that 

2  particular.     The  Bishop,  astonished  at  this  tenderness  in 
so  young  a  prince,  burst  forth  in  tears,  expressing  how 
much  he  was  overjoyed  to  see  such  inclinations  in  him; 
but  told  him  he  must  take  time  to  think  on  it,  and  craved 
leave  to  consult  with  the  Lord-Mayor  and  court  of  alder- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  221 

men.  So  the  King  wrote  by  him  to  them  to  consult  speed- 
ily how  the  poor  should  be  relieved.  They  considered 
there  were  three  sorts  of  poor :  such  as  were  so  by  natural 
infirmity  or  folly,  as  impotent  persons,  and  madmen  or 
idiots ;  such  as  were  so  by  accident,  as  sick  or  maimed 
persons ;  and  such  as,  by  their  idleness,  did  cast  them- 
selves into  poverty.  So  the  King  ordered  the  Greyfriars'  3 
Church,  near  Newgate,  with  the  revenues  belonging  to  it, 
to  be  a  house  for  orphans ;  St.  Bartholomew's,  near 
Smithfield,  to  be  an  hospital ;  and  gave  his  own  house  of 
Bridewell  to  be  a  place  of  correction  and  work  for  such 
as  were  willfully  idle.  He  also  confirmed  and  enlarged 
the  grant  for  the  hospital  of  St.  Thomas,  in  Southwark, 
which  he  had  erected  and  endowed  in  August  last.  And 
when  he  had  set  his  hand  to  these  foundations,  which  was 
not  done  before  the  5th  of  June  this  year,  he  thanked 
God  that  had  prolonged  his  life  till  he  had  finished  that 
design.  So  he  was  the  first  founder  of  those  houses, 
which,  by  many  great  additions  since  that  time,  have 
risen  to  be  among  the  noblest  in  Europe. 

He  expressed,  in  the  whole  course  of  his  sickness,  4 
great  submission  to  the  will  of  God,  and  seemed  glad  at 
the  approaches  of  death ;  only  the  consideration  of  re- 
ligion and  the  church  touched  him  much ;  and  upon  that 
account  he  said  he  was  desirous  of  life.  .  .  .  His  dis- 
temper rather  increased  than  abated ;  so  that  the  phy- 
sicians had   no   hope  of  his  recovery.     Upon  which   a 
confident  woman  came,  and  undertook  his  cure,  if  he  - 
might  be  put  into  her  hands.     This  was  done,  and  the 
physicians  were  put  from  him,  upon  this  pretense,  that, 
they  having  no  hopes  of  his  recovery,  in  a  desperate  case, 
desperate  remedies  were  to  be  applied.     This  was  said  to  5 
be  the  Duke  of  Northumberland's  advice  in  particular ; 
and  it  increased  the  people's  jealousy  of  him  when  they 


R  A 

or 

TT'rTT  7 


222  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

saw  the  King  grow  sensibly  worse  every  day  after  he  came 
under  the  woman's  care ;  which  becoming  so  plain,  she 
was  put  from  him,  and  the  physicians  were  again  sent  for 
and  took  him  into  their  charge.  But  if  they  had  small 
hopes  before,  they  had  none  at  all  now.  Death  thus 
hastening  on  him,  the  Duke  of  Northumberland,  who 
had  done  but  half  his  work,  except  he  had  got  the  King's 
sisters  in  his  hands,  got  the  council  to  write  to  them  in 
the  King's  name,  inviting  them  to  come  and  keep  him 

6  company  in  his  sickness.     But  as  they  were  on  the  way, 
on  the  6th  of  July,  his  spirits  and  body  were  so  sunk 
that  he  found  death  approaching;  and  so  he  composed 
himself  to  die  in  a  most  devout  manner.     His  whole  ex- 
ercise was  in  short  prayers  and  ejaculations.     The  last 
that  he  was  heard  to  use  was  in  these  words :  "  Lord  God ! 
deliver  me  out  of  this  miserable  and  wretched  life,  and 
t;ike  me  among  thy  chosen ;  howbeit,  not  my  will,  but 
thine  be  done ;  Lord,  I  commit  my  spirit  to  thee.     O 
Lord !  thou  knowest  how  happy  it  were  for  me  to  be  with 
thee ;  yet,  for  thy  chosen's  sake,  send  me  life  and  health, 
that  I  may  truly  serve  thee.     O  my  Lord  God  !  bless  my 
people  and  save  thine  inheritance.     O  Lord  God !  save 
thy  chosen  people  of  England.    O  Lord  God  !  defend  this 
realm  from  heresy,  and  maintain  thy  true  religion,  that 
I  and  my  people  may  praise  thy  holy  name,  for  Jesus 
Christ,  his  sake."     Seeing  some  about  him,  he  seemed 
troubled  that  they  were  so  near,  and  had  heard  him ;  but, 
with  a  pleasant  countenance,  he  said  he  had  been  praying 
to  God.    And  soon  after,  the  pangs  of  death  coming  upon 
him,  he  said  to  Sir  Henry  Sidney,  who  was  holding  him 
in  his  arms :  "  I  am  faint ;  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me,  and 
receive  my  spirit "  ;  and  so  he  breathed  out  his  innocent 
soul. 

7  Thus  died  King  Edward  VI,  that  incomparable  young 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  223 

prince.  He  was  then  in  the  sixteenth  year  of  his  age, 
and  was  counted  the  wonder  of  that  time.  He  was  not 
only  learned  in  the  tongues,  and  other  liberal  sciences, 
but  knew  well  the  state  of  his  kingdom.  He  kept  a  book 
in  which  he  wrote  the  characters  that  were  given  him  of 
all  the  chief  men  of  the  nation,  all  the  judges,  lord-lieu- 
tenants, and  justices  of  the  peace  over  England  ;  in  it  he 
had  marked  down  their  way  of  living,  and  their  zeal  for 
religion.  He  had  studied  the  matter  of  the  mint,  with 
the  exchange  and  value  of  money ;  so  that  he  understood 
it  well,  as  appears  by  his  journal.  He  also  understood 
fortification,  and  designed  well.  He  knew  all  the  har- 
bors and  ports,  both  of  his  own  dominions  and  of  France 
and  Scotland ;  and  how  much  water  they  had,  and  what 
was  the  way  of  coming  into  them.  He  had  acquired  8 
great  knowledge  of  foreign  affairs;  so  that  he  talked 
with  the  ambassadors  about  them  in  such  a  manner  that 
they  filled  all  the  world  with  the  highest  opinion  of  him 
that  was  possible ;  which  appears  in  most  of  the  histories 
of  that  age.  He  had  great  quickness  of  apprehension ; 
and,  being  mistrustful  of  his  memory,  used  to  take  notes 
of  almost  everything  he  heard;  he  wrote  these  first  in 
Greek  characters,  that  those  about  him  might  not  under- 
stand them  ;  and  afterward  wrote  them  out  in  his  journal. 
He  had  a  copy  brought  him  of  everything  that  passed  in 
council,  which  he  put  in  a  chest,  and  kept  the  key  of  that 
always  himself. 

In  a  word,  the  natural  and  acquired  perfections  of  hit,  d 
mind  were  wonderful;  but  his  virtues  and  true  piety 
were  yet  more  extraordinary.  .  .  .  (He)  was  tender  and 
compassionate  in  a  high  measure ;  so  that  he  was  much 
against  taking  away  the  lives  of  heretics ;  and,  therefore, 
said  to  Cranmer,  when  he  persuaded  him  to  sign  the  war- 
rant for  the  burning  of  Joan  of  Kent,  that  he  was  not  will- 


224  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ing  to  do  it,  because  he  thought  that  was  to  send  her 
quick  to  hell.  He  expressed  great  tenderness  to  the 
miseries  of  the  poor  in  his  sickness,  as  hath  been  already 
shown.  He  took  particular  care  of  the  suits  of  all  poor 
persons,  and  gave  Dr.  Cox  special  charge  to  see  that  their 
petitions  were  speedily  answered,  and  used  oft  to  consult 
with  him  how  to  get  their  matters  set  forward.  He  was  an 
exact  keeper  of  his  word  ;  and,  therefore,  as  appears  by 
his  journal,  was  most  careful  to  pay  his  debts,  and  to 
keep  his  credit,  knowing  that  to  be  the  chief  nerve  of 
government,  since  a  prince  that  breaks  his  faith,  and  loses 
his  credit,  has  thrown  up  that  which  he  can  never  recover, 
and  made  himself  liable  to  perpetual  distrusts  and  ex- 
treme contempt. 

10  He  had,  above  all  things,  a  great  regard  to  religion. 
He  took  notes  of  such  things  as  he  heard  in  sermons, 
which  more  especially  concerned  himself ;  and  made  his 
measures  of  all  men  by  their  zeal  in  that  matter.  .  .  .  All 
men  who  saw  and  observed  these  qualities  in  him  looked 
on  him  as  one  raised  by  God  for  most  extraordinary  ends  ; 
and,  when  he  died,  concluded  that  the  sins  of  England 
had  been  great  that  had  provoked  God  to  take  from  them 
a  prince  under  whose  government  they  were  like  to  have 
seen  such  blessed  times.  He  was  so  affable  and  sweet- 
natured  that  all  had  free  access  to  him  at  all  times,  by 
which  he  came  to  be  most  universally  beloved ;  and  all 
the  high  things  that  could  be  devised  were  said  by  the 
people  to  express  their  esteem  of  him. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  225 

SKETCH    OF  CHARLES   II. 
BTTKNET'S  "HISTOEY  OF  MY  OWN  TIME." 

Bishop  Bui-net  gives  us  a  lifelike  picture  of  the  "  Merry  Mon- 
arch," Charles  II  of  England.  The  era  of  the  English  Restoration 
(1660-1685)  was  one  of  the  most  profligate  and  debased  in  English 
history.  In  courtly  society  patriotism  was  almost  extinct,  purity 
and  fidelity  had  become  a  jest  and  a  scoffing.  From  the  extreme 
austerity  of  Puritanism,  the  more  polished  elements  of  society,  upon 
the  restoration  of  Charles  II  (1660),  went  to  the  extreme  of  debauch- 
ery and  licentiousness.  Never  was  the  honor  of  England  at  so  low 
an  ebb.  Under  Cromwell  her  name  was  honored  and  respected 
throughout  Europe ;  under  Charles  II  she  sunk  to  the  level  of  a  de- 
pendency of  France.  The  age,  however,  was  not  without  its  great 
men.  During  the  Restoration  Milton  produced  his  "  Paradise  Lost," 
and  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  in  the  vigor  of  his  manhood.  The  stu- 
dent should  consult  Macaulay's  u  History  of  England,"  Masson's 
44 Life  and  Times  of  Milton,"  and  Pepys's  "Diary." 

THUS  lived  and  died  King  Charles  II.  He  was  the  1 
greatest  instance  in  history  of  the  various  revolutions  of 
which  any  one  man  seemed  capable.  He  was  bred,  up  to 
the  first  twelve  years  of  his  life,  with  the  splendor  that 
became  the  heir  of  so  great  a  crown.  After  that,  he 
passed  through  eighteen  years  of  great  inequalities — un 
happy  in  the  war,  in  the  loss  of  his  father,  and  of  the 
crown  of  England.  Scotland  did  not  only  receive  him, 
though  upon  terms  hard  of  digestion,  but  made  an  at- 
tempt upon  England  for  him,  though  a  feeble  one.  He 
lost  the  battle  of  Worcester  with  too  much  indifference. 
And  then  he  showed  more  care  of  his  person  than  became 
one  who  had  so  much  at  stake.  He  wandered  about  Eng- 
land for  ten  weeks  after  that,  hiding  from  place  to  place. 
But,  under  all  the  apprehensions  he  had  then  upon  him,  2 
he  showed  a  temper  so  careless,  and  so  much  turned  to 
levity,  that  he  was  then  diverting  himself  with  little 


226  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

household  sports,  in  as  unconcerned  a  manner  as  if  he  had 
made  no  loss,  and  had  been  in  no  danger  at  all.  He  got 
at  last  out  of  England.  But  he  had  been  obliged  to  so 
many  who  had  been  faithful  to  him,  and  careful  of  him, 
that  he  seemed  afterward  to  resolve  to  make  an  equal  re- 
turn to  them  all ;  and  finding  it  not  easy  to  reward  them 
all  as  they  deserved,  he  forgot  them  all  alike.  Most 
princes  seem  to  have  this  pretty  deep  in  them,  and  to 
think  that  they  ought  never  to  remember  past  services, 
but  that  their  acceptance  of  them  is  a  full  reward.  He, 
of  all  in  our  age,  exerted  this  piece  of  prerogative  in  the 
amplest  manner,  for  he  never  seemed  to  charge  his  mem- 
ory or  to  trouble  his  thoughts  with  the  sense  of  any  of 

3  the  services  that  had  been  done  him.     While   he   was 
abroad  at  Paris,  Cologne,  or  Brussels,  he  never  seemed  to 
lay  anything  to  heart.     He  pursued  all  his  diversions  and 
irregular  pleasures  in  a  free  career,  and  seemed  to  be  as 
serene  under  the  loss  of  a  crown  as  the  greatest  philoso- 
pher could  have  been.     Nor  did  he  willingly  hearken  to 
any  of  those  projects  with  which  he  often  complained 
that  his  chancellor  persecuted  him.     That  in  which  he 
seemed  most  concerned  was  to  find  money  for  supporting 
his  expenses.     And  it  was  often  said  that  if  Cromwell 
would  have  compounded  the  matter,  and  have  given  him 
a  good  round  pension,  that  he  might  have  been  induced 
to  resign  his  title  to  him.     During  his  exile  he  delivered 
himself  so  entirely  to  his  pleasures  that  he  became  inca- 
pable of  application.     He  spent  little  of  his  time  in  read- 

4  ing  or  study,  and  yet  less  in  thinking.     And  in  the  state 
his  affairs  were  then  in,  he  accustomed  himself  to  say  to 
every  person,  and   upon  all   occasions,   that   which   he 
thought  would  please  most ;  so  that  words  or  promises 
went  very  easily  from  him.     And  he  had  so  ill  an  opin- 
ion of  mankind  that  he  thought  the  great  art  of  living 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  227 

and  governing  was  to  manage  all  things  and  all  persons 
with  a  depth  of  craft  and  dissimulation.  And  in  that  few 
men  in  the  world  could  put  on  the  appearances  of  sincer- 
ity better  than  he  could,  under  which  so  much  artifice 
was  usually  hid  ;  that,  in  conclusion,  he  could  deceive  none, 
for  all  were  become  mistrustful  of  him.  He  had  great  5 
vices,  but  scarce  any  virtues  to  correct  them.  He  had  in 
him  some  vices  that  were  less  hurtful,  which  corrected 
his  more  hurtful  ones.  He  was,  during  the  active  part 
of  life,  given  up  to  sloth  and  lewdness  to  such  a  degree 
that  he  hated  business,  and  could  not  bear  the  engaging 
in  anything  that  gave  him  much  trouble,  or  p'ut  him  un- 
der any  constraint.  And  though  he  desired  to  become 
absolute,  and  to  overturn  both  our  religion  and  our  laws, 
yet  he  would  neither  run  the  risk  nor  give  himself  the 
trouble  which  so  great  a  design  required.  He  had  an 
appearance  of  gentleness  in  his  outward  deportment,  but 
he  seemed  to  have  no  tenderness  in  his  nature,  and  in  the 
end  of  his  life  he  became  cruel.  He  was  apt  to  forgive  6 
all  crimes,  even  blood  itself,  yet  he  never  forgave  any- 
thing that  was  done  against  himself  after  his  first  and 
general  act  of  indemnity,  which  was  to  be  reckoned  as 
done  rather  upon  maxims  of  state  than  inclinations  of 
mercy.  He  delivered  himself  up  to  a  most  enormous 
course  of  vice,  without  any  sort  of  restraint,  even  from  the 
consideration  of  the  nearest  relations.  The  most  stud- 
ied extravagances  that  way  seemed,  to  the  very  last,  to  be 
much  delighted  in  and  pursued  by  him.  He  had  the  art 
of  making  all  people  grow  fond  of  him  at  first,  by  a  soft- 
ness in  his  whole  way  of  conversation,  as  he  was  certainly 
the  best-bred  man  of  the  age.  But  when  it  appeared 
how  little  could  be  built  on  his  promise,  they  were  cured 
of  the  fondness  that  he  was  apt  to  raise  in  them.  When 
he  saw  young  men  of  quality,  who  had  something  more 
1C 


228  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

than  ordinary  in  them,  he  drew  them  about  him,  and  set 
himself  to  corrupt  them  both  in  religion  and  morality,  in 
which  he  proved  so  unhappily  successful  that  he  left  Eng- 
land much  changed  at  his  death  from  what  he  had  found 

Tit  at  his  restoration.  He  loved  to  talk  over  all  the  stories 
of  his  life  to  every  new  man  that  came  about  him.  His 
stay  in  Scotland,  and  the  share  he  had  in  the  war  of  Paris, 
in  carrying  messages  from  the  one  side  to  the  other,  were 
his  common  topics.  He  went  over  these  in  a  very  graceful 
manner,  but  so  often  and  so  copiously  that  all  those  who 
had  been  long  accustomed  to  them  grew  weary  of  them ; 
and  when  "he  entered  on  those  stories  they  usually  with- 
drew ;  so  that  he  often  began  them  in  a  full  audience, 
and  before  he  had  done  there  were  not  above  four  or  five 
persons  left  about  him,  which  drew  a  severe  jest  from 
Wilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester.  He  said  he  wondered  to  see 
a  man  have  so  good  a  memory  as  to  repeat  the  same  story 
without  losing  the  least  circumstance,  and  yet  not  remem- 
ber that  he  had  told  it  to  the  same  person  the  very  day 
before.  This  made  him  fond  of  strangers,  for  they  heark- 
ened to  all  his  often-repeated  stories,  and  went  away  as 
in  a  rapture  at  such  an  uncommon  condescension  in  a 
king. 

8  His  person  and  temper,  his  vices  as  well  as  his  for- 
tunes, resemble  the  character  that  we  have  given  us  of 
Tiberius  so  much  that  it  were  easy  to  draw  the  parallel 
between  them.  Tiberius's  banishment,  and  his  coming 
afterward  to  reign,  makes  the  comparison  in  that  respect 
come  pretty  near.  His  hating  of  business  and  his  love  of 
pleasures ;  his  raising  of  favorites,  and  trusting  them  en- 
tirely ;  his  pulling  them  down,  and  hating  them  exces- 
sively ;  his  art  of  covering  deep  designs,  particularly  of 
revenge,  with  an  appearance  of  softness,  brings  them  so 
near  a  likeness  that  I-  did  not  wonder  much  to  observe 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  229 

the  resemblance  of  their  faces  and  persons.  At  Rome  I 
saw  one  of  the  last  statues  made  for  Tiberius,  after  he 
had  lost  his  teeth.  But,  bating  the  alteration  which  that 
made,  it  was  so  like  King  Charles  that  Prince  Borghese 
and  Signior  Dominico,  to  whom  it  belonged,  did  agree 
with  me  in  thinking  that  it  looked  like  a  statue  made  for 
him. 

Few  things  ever  went  near  his  heart.  The  Duke  of  9 
Gloucester's  death  seemed  to  touch  him  much.  But 
those  who  knew  him  best  thought  it  was  because  he  had 
lost  him  by  whom  only  he  could  have  balanced  the  sur- 
viving brother,  whom  he  hated,  and  yet  embroiled  all  his 
affairs  to  preserve  the  succession  to  him. 

His  ill  conduct  in  the  first  Dutch  war,  and  those  terri- 
ble calamities  of  the  plague  and  fire  of  London,  with  that 
loss  and  reproach  which  he  suffered  by  the  insult  at  Chat- 
ham, made  all  people  conclude  there  was  a  curse  upon  his 
government.  His  throwing  the  public  hatred,  at  that 
time,  upon  Lord  Clarendon  was  both  unjust  and  un- 
grateful. And  when  his  people  had  brought  him  out  of 
all  his  difficulties  upon  his  entering  into  the  triple  alli- 
ance, his  selling  that  to  France,  arid  his  entering  on  the 
second  Dutch  war  with  as  little  color  as  he  had  for  the 
first ;  his  beginning  it  with  the  attempt  on  the  Dutch 
Smyrna  fleet;  the  shutting  up  the  exchequer;  arid  his 
declaration  for  toleration — make  such  a  chain  of  black 
actions,  flowing  from  blacker  designs,  that  it  amazed 
those  who  had  known  all  this  to  see  with  what  impudent 
strains  of  flattery  addresses  were  penned  during  his  life, 
and  yet  more  grossly  after  his  death.  His  contributing  10 
so  much  to  the  raising  the  greatness  of  France,  chiefly  at 
sea,  was  such  an  error  that  it  could  not  flow  from  want 
of  thought,  or  of  true  sense.  Ruvigny  told  me  he  de- 
sired that  all  the  methods  the  French  took  in  the  increase 


230  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

and  conduct  of  their  naval  force  might  be  sent  him ;  and 
he  said  he  seemed  to  study  them  with  concern  and  zeal. 
He  showed  what  errors  they  committed,  and  how  they 
ought  to  be  corrected,  as  if  he  had  been  a  viceroy  to 
France,  rather  than  a  king  that  ought  to  have  watched 
over  and  prevented  the  progress  they  made,  as  the 
greatest  of  all  the  mischiefs  that  could  happen  to  him  or 
to  his  people.  They  that  judged  the  most  favorably  of 
this  thought  it  was  done  out  of  revenge  to  the  Dutch; 
that,  with  the  assistance  of  so  great  a  fleet  as  France  could 
join  to  his  own,  he  might  be  able  to  destroy  them.  But 
others  put  a  worse  construction  on  it,  and  thought  that, 
seeing  he  could  not  quite  master  or  deceive  his  subjects 
by  his  own  strength  and  management,  he  was  willing  to 
help  forward  the  greatness  of  the  French  at  sea ;  that  by 
their  assistance  he  might  more  certainly  subdue  his  own 
people ;  according  to  what  was  generally  believed  to  have 
fallen  from  Lord  Clifford,  that  if  the  King  must  be  in  a 
dependence,  it  was  better  to  pay  it  to  a  great  and  gener- 
ous king  than  to  five  hundred  of  his  own  insolent  subjects. 
11  No  part  of  his  character  looked  wickeder,  as  well  as 
meaner,  than  that  he,  all  the  while  that  he  was  professing 
to  be  of  the  Church  of  England,  expressing  both  zeal  and 
affection  to  it,  was  yet  secretly  reconciled  to  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  thus  mocking  God,  and  deceiving  the 
world  with  so  gross  a  prevarication.  And  his  not  having 
the  honesty  or  courage  to  own  it  at  the  last;  his  not 
showing  any  sign  of  the  least  remorse  for  his  ill-led  life, 
or  any  tenderness  either  for  his  subjects  in  general,  or 
for  the  Queen  and  his  servants ;  and  his  recommending 
only  his  favorites  and  their  children  to  his  brother's 
care — would  have  been  a  strange  conclusion  to  any  other's 
life,  but  was  well  enough  suited  to  all  the  other  parts  of 
his. 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  231 

CHARACTER  OF  WILLIAM    III,    OF  ENGLAND. 
SUBNET'S  "HISTOEY  OF  MY  OWN  TIMES." 

Bishop  Burnet,  who  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  William  III,  has 
given  us  a  clear  likeness  of  the  great  hero.  If  the  student  will  read 
Macaulay's  delineation  of  William,  in  his  "History  of  England,1'  he 
can  not  fail  to  see  how  largely  it  is  indebted  to  Burnet's  sketch. 
William  III  was  the  great  champion  of  Protestantism  in  Europe 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  as  his  illustrious 
ancestor,  William  the  Silent,  was  during  the  latter  part  of  the  six- 
teenth. William  III  married  Mary,  the  daughter  of  James  II,  of 
England,  and  upon  the  abdication  of  James  in  1688,  he  was  invited 
to  the  English  throne.  His  reign  is  celebrated  for  the  firm  settle- 
ment of  constitutional  monarchy  in  England.  The  student  should 
consult  Macaulay's  "  History  of  England,"  Von  Ranke's  "  History 
of  England,"  principally  in  the  sevonteenth  century,  Freeman  on 
the  "  English  Constitution,"  Greene's  "  Short  History  of  the  Eng- 
lish People." 

THUS  lived  and  died  William  III,  King  of  Great  1 
Britain,  and  Prince  of  Orange.  He  had  a  thin  and  weak 
body,  was  brown-haired,  and  of  a  clear  and  delicate  con- 
stitution. He  had  a  Roman  eagle  nose,  bright  and 
sparkling  eyes,  a  large  front,  and  a  countenance  com- 
posed to  gravity  and  authority.  All  his  senses  were 
critical  and  exquisite.  He  was  always  asthmatical ;  and 
the  dregs  of  the  small-pox  falling  on  his  lungs,  he  had  a 
constant  deep  cough.  His  behavior  was  solemn  and  seri- 
ous, seldom  cheerful,  and  but  with  a  few.  He  spoke 
little  and  very  slowly,  and  most  commonly  with  a  disgust- 
ing dryness,  which  was  his  character  at  all  times,  except 
in  a  day  of  battle ;  for  then  he  was  all  fire,  though  with- 
out passion  ;  he  was  then  everywhere,  and  looked  to 
everything.  He  had  no  great  advantage  from  his  educa-  2 
tion.  DeWitt's  discourses  were  of  great  use  to  him ;  and 
he,  being  apprehensive  of  the  observation  of  those  who 


232  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

were  looking  narrowly  into  everything  he  said  or  did, 
had  brought  himself  under  an  habitual  caution  that  he 
could  never  shake  off ;  though  in  another  scene  it  proved 
as  hurtful  as  it  was  then  necessary  to  his  affairs.  He 
spoke  Dutch,  French,  English,  and  German  equally  well ; 
and  he  understood  the  Latin,  Spanish,  and  Italian,  so  that 
he  was  well  fitted  to  command  armies  composed  of  sev- 
eral nations.  He  had  a  memory  that  amazed  all  about 
him,  for  it  never  failed  him.  He  was  an  exact  observer 
of  men  and  things.  His  strength  lay  rather  in  a  true  dis- 
cerning and  a  sound  judgment  than  in  imagination  or 
invention.  His  designs  were  always  great  and  good. 

3  But  it  was  thought  he  trusted  too  much  to  that,  and  that 
he  did  not  descend  enough  to  the  humors  of  his  people 
to  make  himself  and  his  notions  more  acceptable  to  them. 
This,  in  a  government  that  has  so  much  of  freedom  in  it 
s>  i  ours,  was  more  necessary  than  he  was  inclined  to  be- 
lieve.   His  reservedness  grew  on  him,  so  that  it  disgusted 
most  of  those  who  served  him ;  but  he  had  observed  the 
errors  of  too  much  talking,  more  than  those  of  too  cold  a 
silence.     He  did  not  like  contradiction,  nor  to  have  his 
actions  censured  ;  but  he  loved  to  employ  and  favor  those 
who  had  the  arts  of  complacence,  yet  he  did  not  love  flat- 

4  terers.     His  genius  lay  chiefly  to  war,  in  which  his  cour- 
age was  more  admired  than  his  conduct.     Great  errors 
were  often  committed  by  him ;  but  his  heroical  courage 
set  things  right,  as  it  inflamed  those  who  were  about  him. 
He  was  too  lavish  of  money  on  some  occasions,  both  in 
his  buildings  and  to  his  favorites,  but  too  sparing  in  re- 
warding services,  or  in  encouraging  those  who  brought 
intelligence.     He  was  apt  to  take  ill  impressions  of  peo- 
ple, and  these  stuck  long  with  him  ;  but  he  never  carried 
them  to  indecent  revenges.     He  gave  too  much  way  to 
his  own  humor,  almost  in  everything,  not  excepting  that 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  233 

which  related  to  his  own  health.  He  knew  all  foreign 
affairs  well,  and  understood  the  state  of  every  court  in 
Europe  very  particularly.  He  instructed  his  own  minis- 
ters himself,  but  he  did  not  apply  enough  to  affairs  at 
home.  He  tried  how  he  could  govern  us,  by  balancing 
the  two  parties  one  against  another ;  but  he  came  at  last 
to  be  persuaded  that  the  Tories  were  irreconcilable  to 
him,  and  he  was  resolved  to  try  and  trust  them  no  more. 
He  believed  the  truth  of  the  Christian  religion  very  5 
firmly,  and  he  expressed  a  horror  at  atheism  and  blas- 
phemy ;  and  though  there  was  much  of  both  in  his  court, 
yet  it  was  always  denied  to  him,  and  kept  out  of  sight. 
He  was  most  exemplarily  decent  and  devout  in  the  pub- 
lic exercises  of  the  worship  of  God  ;  only  on  week-days 
he  came  too  seldom  to  them.  He  was  an  attentive  hearer 
of  sermons,  and  was  constant  in  his  private  prayers,  and 
in  reading  the  Scriptures ;  and  when  he  spoke  of  religious 
matters,  which  he  did  not  often,  it  was  with  a  becoming 
gravity.  He  was  much  possessed  with  the  belief  of  abso- 
lute decrees.  He  said  to  me  he  adhered  to  these  because 
he  did  not  see  how  the  belief  of  Providence  could  be 
maintained  upon  any  other  supposition.  His  indifference  6 
as  to  the  forms  of  church  government,  and  his  being  zeal- 
ous for  toleration,  together  with  his  cold  behavior  toward 
the  clergy,  gave  them  generally  very  ill  impressions  of 
him.  In  his  deportment  toward  all  about  him,  he  seemed 
to  make  little  distinction  between  the  good  and  the  bad, 
and  those  who  served  well  or  those  who  served  him  ill. 
He  loved  the  Dutch,  and  was  much  beloved  among 
them ;  but  the  ill  returns  he  met  from  the  English 
nation,  their  jealousies  of  him,  and  their  perverseness  to- 
ward him,  had  too  much  soured  his  mind,  and  had  in  a 
great  measure  alienated  him  from  them ;  which  he  did 
not  take  care  enough  to  conceal,  though  he  saw  the  ill 


234  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

7 effects  this  had  upon  his  business.  He  grew,  in  his  last 
years^  too  remiss  and  careless  as  to  all  affairs,  till  the 
treacheries  of  France  awakened  him,  and  the  dreadful 
conjunction  of  the  monarchies  gave  so  loud  an  alarm  t  » 
all  Europe  ;  for  a  watching  over  that  court,  and  a  best  i  r- 
ring  himself  against  their  practices,  was  the  prevail! n^ 
passion  of  his  whole  life.  Few  men  had  the  art  of  con- 
cealing and  governing  passion  more  than  he  had ;  yet 
few  men  had  stronger  passions,  which  were  seldom  felt 
by  inferior  servants,  to  whom  he  usually  made  such 
recompenses  for  any  sudden  or  indecent  vents  he  might 
give  his  anger,  that  they  were  glad  at  every  time  that  it 
broke  upon  them.  He  was  too  easy  to  the  faults  of  those 
about  him,  when  they  did  not  lie  in  his  own  way,  or  cross 
any  of  his  designs ;  and  he  was  so  apt  to  think  that  his 
ministers  might  grow  insolent  if  they  should  find  that 
they  had  much  credit  with  him,  that  he  seemed  to  have 
made  it  a  maxim  to  let  them  often  feel  how  little  power 
they  had  even  in  small  matters.  His  favorites  had  a 
more  entire  power,  but  he  accustomed  them  only  to  in- 
form him  of  things,  but  to  be  sparing  in  offering  advice, 
except  when  it  was  asked.  It  was  not  easy  to  account 
for  the  reasons  of  the  favor  that  he  showed,  in  the 
highest  instances,  to  two  persons  beyond  all  others,  the 
Earls  of  Portland  and  Albemarle,  they  being  in  all  re- 
spects men  not  only  of  different,  but  of  opposite  charac- 
ters. Secrecy  and  fidelity  were  the  only  qualities  in 

8  which  it  could  be  said  that  they  did  in  any  sort  agree.  1 
have  now  run  through  the  chief  branches  of  his  charac- 
ter. I  had  occasion  to  know  him  well,  having  observed 
him  very  carefully  in  a  course  of  sixteen  years.  I  had  a 
large  measure  of  his  favor,  and  a  free  access  to  him  all 
the  while,  though  not  at  all  times  to  the  same  degree. 
The  freedom  that  I  used  with  him  was  not  always  ac- 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  235 

ceptable ;  but  he  saw  that  I  served  him  faithfully ;  so, 
after  some  intervals  of  coldness,  he  always  returned  to  a 
good  measure  of  confidence  in  me.  I  was,  in  many  great 
instances,  much  obliged  by  him ;  but  that  was  not  my 
chief  bias  to  him ;  I  considered  him  as  a  person  raised 
up  by  God  to  resist  the  power  of  France,  and  the  progress 
of  tyranny  and  persecution.  The  series  of  the  five 
Princes  of  Orange  that  was  now  ended  in  him  was  the 
noblest  succession  of  heroes  that  we  find  in  any  history. 
And  the  thirty  years,  from  the  year  1672  to  his  death,  in 
which  he  acted  so  great  a  part,  carry  in  them  so  many 
amazing  steps  of  a  glorious  and  distinguishing  Provi- 
dence that,  in  the  words  of  David,  he  may  be  called 
"  The  man  of  God's  right  hand,  whom  he  made  strong 
for  himself."  After  all  the  abatements  that  may  be 
allowed  for  his  errors  and  faults,  he  ought  still  to  be 
reckoned  among  the  greatest  princes  that  our  history,  or, 
indeed,  that  any  other  can  afford.  He  died  in  a  critical  9 
time  for  his  own  glory,  since  he  had  formed  a  great  alli- 
ance, and  had  projected  the  whole  scheme  of  the  war ;  so 
that,  if  it  succeeds,  a  great  part  of  the  honor  of  it  will  be 
ascribed  to  him ;  and,  if  otherwise,  it  will  be  said  he  was 
the  soul  of  the  alliance,  that  did  both  animate  and  knit  it 
together,  and  that  it  was  natural  for  that  body  to  die  and 
fall  asunder,  when  he  who  gave  it  life  was  withdrawn. 
Upon  his  death,  some  moved  for  a  magnificent  funeral ; 
but  it  seemed  not  decent  to  run  into  unnecessary  expense 
when  we  were  entering  on  a  war  that  must  be  maintained 
at  a  vast  charge.  So  a  private  funeral  was  resolved  on. 
But,  for  the  honor  of  his  memory,  a  noble  monument  and 
an  equestrian  statue  were  ordered.  Some  years  must  show 
whether  these  things  were  really  intended,  or  if  they  were 
only  spoken  of  to  excuse  the  privacy  of  bis  funeral,  which 
was  scarce  decent,  so  far  was  it  from  being  magnificent. 


236  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

DEATH  AND  CHARACTER   OF  QUEEN    ELIZABETH. 

HUME'S    "HISTORY    OF    ENGLAND." 

This  extract  from  Hume's  "  History  of  England "  should  be 
compared  with  Fronde's  "  Sketch  of  Elizabeth  and  her  Reign,"  given 
in  the  "  Reader." 

1  SOME  incidents  happened  which  revived  her  tender- 
ness for  Essex,  and  filled  her  with  the  deepest  sorrow  for 
the  consent  which  she  had  unwarily  given  to  his  execu- 
tion. 

The  Earl  of  Essex,  after  his  return  from  the  fortu- 
nate expedition  against  Cadiz,  observing  the  increase  of 
the  queen's  fond  attachment  toward  him,  took  occasion 
to  regret  that  the  necessity  of  her  service  required  him 
often  to  be  absent  from  her  person,  and  exposed  him  to 
all  those  ill  offices  which  his  enemies,  more  assiduous  in 
their  attendance,  could  employ  against  him.  She  was 
moved  with  this  tender  jealousy ;  and  making  him  the 
present  of  a  ring,  desired  him  to  keep  that  pledge  of  her 
affection,  and  assured  him  that  into  whatever  disgrace  he 
should  fall,  whatever  prejudices  she  might  be  induced 
to  entertain  against  him,  yet,  if  he  sent  her  that  ring,  she 
would  immediately,  upon  sight  of  it,  recall  her  former 
tenderness,  would  afford  him  u  patient  hearing,  and 

2  would  lend  a  favorable  ear  to  his  apology.     Essex,  not- 
withstanding all  his  misfortunes,  reserved  this  precious 
gift  to  the  last  extremity ;  but,  after  his  trial  and  con- 
demnation, he  resolved  to  try  the  experiment,  and  he 
committed   the  ring  to   the   Countess   of   Nottingham, 
whom  he  desired  to  deliver  it  to  the  queen.     The  coun- 
tess was  prevailed  on  by  her  husband,  the  mortal  enemy 
of  Essex,  not  to  execute  the  commission ;  and  Elizabeth, 
who  still  expected  that  her  favorite  would  make  this  last 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  237 

appeal  to  her  tenderness,  and  who  ascribed  the  neglect  of 
it  to  his  invincible  obstinacy,  was,  after  much  delay  and 
many  internal  combats,  pushed  by  resentment  and  policy 
to  sign  the  warrant  for  his  execution.  The  Countess  of 
Nottingham,  falling  into  sickness  and  affected  with  the 
near  approach  of  death,  was  seized  with  remorse  for  her 
conduct ;  and  having  obtained  a  visit  from  the  queen,  she 
craved  her  pardon,  and  revealed  to  her  the  fatal  secret. 
The  queen,  astonished  with  this  incident,  burst  into  a 
furious  passion ;  she  shook  the  dying  countess  in  her 
bed ;  and  crying  to  her  that  God  might  pardon  her,  but 
she  never  could,  she  broke  from  her,  and  thenceforth 
resigned  herself  over  to  the  deepest  and  most  incurable 
melancholy.  She  rejected  all  consolation ;  she  even  re-  3 
fused  food  and  sustenance ;  and,  throwing  herself  on  the 
floor,  she  remained  sullen  and  immovable,  feeding  her 
thoughts  on  her  afflictions,  and  declaring  life  and  exist- 
ence an  insufferable  burden  to  her.  Few  words  she  ut- 
tered ;  and  they  were  all  expressive  of  some  inward  grief 
which  she  cared  not  to  reveal :  but  sighs  and  groans  were 
the  chief  vent  which  she  gave  to  her  despondency,  and 
which,  though  they  discovered  her  sorrows,  were  never 
able  to  ease  or  assuage  them.  Ten  days  and  nights  she 
lay  upon  the  carpet,  leaning  on  cushions  which  her  maids 
brought  her ;  and  her  physicians  could  not  persuade  her 
to  allow  herself  to  be  put  to  bed,  much  less  to  make  trial 
of  any  remedies  which  they  prescribed  to  her.  Her  anx-4 
ious  mind  at  last  had  so  long  preyed  on  her  frail  body 
that  her  end  was  visibly  approaching ;  and  the  council 
being  assembled,  sent  the  keeper,  admiral,  and  secretary, 
to  know  her  will  with  regard  to  her  successor.  She  an- 
swered with  a  faint  voice  that,  as  she  had  held  a  regal 
scepter,  she  desired  no  other  than  a  royal  successor.  Cecil 
requesting  her  to  explain  herself  more  particularly,  she 


238  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

subjoined  that  she  would  have  a  king  to  succeed  her  ;  and 
who  should  that  be  but  her  nearest  kinsman,  the  king  of 
Scots  ?  Being  then  advised  by  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury to  fix  her  thoughts  upon  God,  she  replied  that 
she  did  so,  nor  did  her  mind  in  the  least  wander  from 
him.  Her  voice  soon  after  left  her  ;  her  senses  failed  ; 
she  fell  into  a  lethargic  slumber,  which  continued  some 
hours,  and  she  expired  gently,  without  further  struggle 
or  convulsion  (March  2-t,  1603),  in  the  seventieth  year  of 
her  age  and  forty-fifth  of  her  reign. 

5  So  dark  a  cloud  overcast  the  evening  of  that  d.iv, 
which  had  shone  out  with  a  mighty  luster  in  the  eyes  of 
all  Europe.     There  are  few  great  personages  in  history 
who  have  been  more  exposed  to  the  calumny  of  enemu  > 
and  the  adulation  of  friends  than  Queen  Elizabeth ;  and 
yet  there  is  scarcely  any  whose  reputation  has  been  more 
certainly  determined  by  the  unanimous  consent  of  pos- 
terity.    The  unusual  length  of   her  administration  and 
the  strong  features  of  her  character  were  Me  to  over- 
come all  prejudices;  and,  obliging  her  detractors  to  abate 
much  of  their  invectives,  and  her  admirers  somewhat  of 
their  panegyrics,  have  at  last,  in  spite  of  political  fac- 
tions, and  what  is  more,  of  religious  animosities,  pro- 
duced a  uniform  judgment  with  regard  to  her  conduct. 

6  Her  vigor,  her  constancy,  her  magnanimity,  her  penetra- 
tion,  vigilance,  and  address,  are  allowed   to  merit  the 
highest  praises,  and  appear  not  to  have  been  surpassed  by 
any  person  that  ever  filled  a  throne  :  a  conduct  less  rigor- 
ous, less  imperious,  more  sincere,  more  indulgent  to  her 
people,  would   have   been    requisite  to  form  a  perfect 
character.     By  the  force  of  her  mind  she  controlled  all 
her  more  active  and  stronger  qualities,  and  prevented 
them  from  running  into  excess  :  her  heroism  was  exempt 
from  temerity,  her  frugality  from  avarice,  her  friendship 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  239 

from  partiality,  her  active  temper  from  turbulency  and  a 
vain  ambition :  she  guarded  not  herself  with  equal  care 
or  equal  success  from  lesser  infirmities,  the  rivalship  of 
beauty,  the  desire  of  admiration,  the  jealousy  of  love, 
and  the  sallies  of  anger. 

Her  singular  talents  for  government  were  founded? 
equally  on  her  temper  and  on  her  capacity.  Endowed 
with  a  great  command  over  herself,  she  soon  obtained  an 
uncontrolled  ascendant  over  her  people ;  and,  while  she 
merited  all  their  esteem  by  her  real  virtues,  she  also  en- 
gaged their  affections  by  her  pretended  ones.  Few  sover- 
eigns of  England  succeeded  to  the  throne  in  more  diffi- 
cult circumstances ;  and  none  ever  conducted  the  govern- 
ment with  such  uniform  success  and  felicity.  Though 
unacquainted  with  the  practice  of  toleration — the  true 
secret  for  managing  religious  factions — she  preserved  her 
people  by  her  superior  prudence  from  those  confusions 
in  which  theological  controversy  had  involved  all  the 
neighboring  nations ;  and,  though  her  enemies  were  the 
most  powerful  princes  of  Europe,  the  most  active,  the 
most  enterprising,  the  least  scrupulous,  she  was  able  by 
her  vigor  to  make  deep  impressions  on  their  states ;  her 
own  greatness  meanwhile  remained  untouched  and  un- 
impaired. 

The  wise  ministers  and  brave  warriors  who  flourished  8 
under  her  reign  share  the  praise  of  her  success ;  but  in- 
stead of  lessening  the  applause  due  to  her,  they  make 
great  addition  to  it.  They  owed,  all  of  them,  their  ad- 
vancement to  her  choice;  they  were  supported  by  her 
constancy,  and  with  all  their  abilities,  they  were  never 
able  to  acquire  any  undue  ascendency  over  her.  In  her 
family,  in  her  court,  in  her  kingdom,  she  remained 
equally  mistress :  the  force  of  the  tender  passions  was 
great  over  her,  but  the  force  of  her  mind  was  still  su- 


240  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

perior;  and  the  combat  which  her  victory  visibly  cost 
her,  serves  only  to  display  the  firmness  of  her  resolution, 
and  the  loftiness  of  her  ambitious  sentiments. 
9  The  fame  of  this  princess,  though  it  has  surmounted 
the  prejudices  both  of  faction  and  bigotry,  yet  lies  still 
exposed  to  another  prejudice,  which  is  more  durable 
because  more  natural,  and  which,  according  to  the  differ- 
ent views  in  which  we  survey  her,  is  capable  either  of 
exalting  beyond  measure  or  diminishing  the  luster  of  her 
character.  This  prejudice  is  founded  on  the  considera- 
tion of  her  sex.  When  we  contemplate  her  as  a  woman, 
we  are  apt  to  be  struck  with  the  highest  admiration  of 
her  great  qualities  and  extensive  capacity ;  but  we  are 
also  apt  to  require  some  more  softness  of  disposition, 
some  greater  lenity  of  temper,  some  of  those  amiable 
10  weaknesses  by  which  her  sex  is  distinguished.  But  the 
true  method  of  estimating  her  merit  is  to  lay  aside  all 
these  considerations,  and  consider  her  merely  as  a  rational 
being  placed  in  authority,  and  intrusted  with  the  govern- 
ment of  mankind.  We  mav  find  it  difficult  to  reconcile 
our  fancy  to  her  as  a  wife  or  a  mistress ;  but  her  qualities 
as  a  sovereign,  though  with  some  considerable  exceptions, 
are  the  object  of  undisputed  applause  and  approbation. 


CHARACTER  OF   MARY   QUEEN   OF   SCOTS. 
ROBERTSON'S  "  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND." 

Robertson's  character  of  Mary  Stuart  is  drawn  with  his  usual 
sobriety  and  gravity.  Perhaps  no  woman  that  ever  lived  was  so 
endowed  with  the  gift  of  fascination,  the  faculty  of  taking  men 
captive  at  her  will.  John  Knox,  the  Scottish  reformer,  was  one  of 
the  few  men  of  her  time  who  seems  to  have  been  impervious  to  her 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  241 

charms.  After  the  lapse  of  three  centuries,  her  sway  over  the 
imagination  has  not  abated,  and  no  historical  character  of  the  six- 
teenth century  is  the  subject  of  more  controversy  and  investigation. 

To  all  the  charms  of  beauty  and  the  utmost  elegance  1 
of  external  form,  she  added  those  accomplishments  which 
render  their  impression  irresistible.  Polite,  affable,  in- 
sinuating, sprightly,  and  capable  of  speaking  and  of  writ- 
ing with  equal  ease  and  dignity.  Sudden,  however,  and 
violent  in  all  her  attachments,  because  her  heart  was 
warm  and  unsuspicious.  Impatient  of  contradiction,  be- 
cause she  had  been  accustomed  from  her  infancy  to  be 
treated  as  a  queen.  No  stranger,  on  some  occasions,  to 
dissimulation,  which,  in  that  perfidious  court  where  she 
received  her  education,  was  reckoned  among  the  neces- 
sary arts  of  government.  Not  insensible  of  flattery,  or 
unconscious  of  that  pleasure  with  which  almost  every 
woman  beholds  the  influence  of  her  own  beauty.  Formed  2 
with  the  qualities  which  we  love,  not  with  the  talents  that 
we  admire,  she  was  an  agreeable  woman  rather  than  an 
illustrious  queen.  The  vivacity  of  her  spirit,  not  suffi- 
ciently tempered  with  sound  judgment,  and  the  warmth 
of  her  heart,  which  was  not  at  all  times  under  the  re- 
straint of  discretion,  betrayed  her  both  into  errors  and 
into  crimes.  To  say  that  she  was  always  unfortunate 
will  not  account  for  that  long  and  almost  uninterrupted 
succession  of  calamities  which  befell  her ;  we  must  like- 
wise add  that  she  was  often  imprudent.  Her  passion  for 
Darnley  was  rash,  youthful,  and  excessive.  And  though  3 
the  sudden  transition  to  the  opposite  extreme  was  the 
natural  effect  of  her  ill-requited  love,  and  of  his  ingrati- 
tude, insolence,  and  brutality,  yet  neither  these  nor  Both- 
well's  artful  address  and  important  services  can  justify 
her  attachment  to  that  nobleman.  Even  the  manners  of 
the  age,  licentious  as  they  were,  are  no  apology  for  this 


242  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

unhappy  passion  ;  nor  can  they  induce  us  to  look  on  that 
tragical  and  infamous  scene  which  followed  upon  it  with 
less  abhorrence.  Humanity  will  draw  a  veil  over  this  part 
of  her  character  which  it  can  not  approve,  and  may,  per- 
haps, prompt  some  to  impute  her  actions  to  her  situation 
more  than  to  her  dispositions,  and  to  lament  the  unhappi- 
ness  of  the  former  rather  than  accuse  the  perverseness  of 
the  latter. 

4  With  regard  to  the  queen's  person,  a  circumstance 
not  to  be  omitted  in  writing  the  history  of  a  female  reiirn, 
all  contemporary  authors  agree  in  ascribing  to  Mary  the 
utmost  beauty  of  countenance  and  elegance  of  shape  of 
which  the  human  form  is  capable.  Her  hair  was  black, 
though,  according  to  the  fashion  of  that  age,  she  fre- 
quently wore  borrowed  locks,  and  of  different  colors. 
Her  eyes  were  a  dark  gray,  her  complexion  was  exqui- 
sitely fine,  and  her  hands  and  arms  remarkably  delicate, 
both  as  to  shape  and  color.  Her  stature  was  of  a  height 
that  rose  to  the  majestic.  She  danced,  she  walked,  and 
rode  with  equal  grace.  Her  taste  for  music  was  just, 
and  she  both  sang  and  played  upon  the  lute  with  uncom- 
mon skill.  Toward  the  end  of  her  life  she  began  to 
grow  fat,  and  her  long  confinement  and  the  coldness  of 
the  houses  in  which  she  had  been  imprisoned,  brought 
on  a  rheumatism,  which  deprived  her  of  the  use  of  her 
limbs.  u  No  man,"  says  Brantome,  "  ever  beheld  her 
person  without  admiration  and  love,  or  will  read  her  his- 
tory without  sorrow." 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  243 

DISCOVERY   OF  AMERICA. 
ROBERTSON'S    "HISTOBY    OF    AMERICA." 

It  is  a  singular  fact  in  connection  with 'the  history  of  Columbus, 
that  he  died  in  ignorance  of  the  magnitude  of  his  own  discoveries. 
He  never  touched  the  mainland  of  North  America,  and  to  the  last 
was  probably  not  aware  that  he  had  brought  a  new  continent  to 
light.  Claims  have  been  set  up  in  favor  of  an  earlier  discovery  of 
America  by  the  Danes  or  Norsemen,  who  probably  made  some  tem- 
porary settlements  on  the  New  England  coast.  The  student  will 
find  some  very  entertaining  reading  in  Anderson's  "  America  not 
Discovered  by  Columbus,"  but  its  conclusions  should  be  accepted 
with  considerable  reserve.  They  can  scarcely  be  regarded,  even  if 
they  be  true,  as  detracting  essentially  from  the  glory  and  renown 
due  to  Columbus  as  the  discoverer  of  America. 

NEXT  morning,  being  Friday,  the  third  day  of  August,  1 
in  the  year  1492,  Columbus  set  sail,  a  little  before  sun- 
rise, in  the  presence  of  a  vast  crowd  of  spectators,  who 
sent  up  their  supplications  to  Heaven  for  the  prosperous 
issue  of  the  voyage,  which  they  wished  rather  than  ex- 
pected. Columbus  steered  directly  for  the  Canary  Islands, 
and  arrived  there  without  any  occurrence  that  would  have 
deserved  notice  on  any  other  occasion.  But  in  a  voyage 
of  such  expectation  and  importance,  every  circumstance 
was  the  object  of  attention  .  .  . 

Upon  the  1st  of  October  they  were,  according  to  the  2 
admiral's  reckoning,  seven  hundred  and  seventy  leagues 
to  the  west  of  the  Canaries ;  but,  lest  his  men  should  be 
intimidated  by  the  prodigious  length  of  the  navigation, 
he  gave  out  that  they  had  proceeded  only  five  hundred 
and  eighty-four  leagues ;  and,  fortunately  for  Columbus, 
neither  his  own  pilot  nor  those  of  the  other  ships  had 
skill  sufficient  to  correct  this  error  and  discover  the  de- 
ceit. They  had  now  been  above  three  weeks  at  sea ;  they 
17 


244  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

had  proceeded  far  beyond  what  former  navigators  had 
attempted  or  deemed  possible ;  all  their  prognostics  of 
discovery,  drawn  from  the  flight  of  birds  and  other  cir- 
cumstances, had  proved  fallacious ;  the  appearances  of 
land,  with  which  their  own  credulity  or  the  artifice  of 
their  commander  had  from  time  to  time  flattered  and 
amused  them,  had  been  altogether  illusive,  and  their 
prospect  of  success  seemed  now  to  be  as  distant  as  ever. 

3  These  reflections  occurred  often  to  men  who  had  no  other 
object  or  occupation  than  to  reason  and  discourse  con- 
cerning the  intention  and  circumstances  of  their  expedi- 
tion.    They  made  impression  at  first  upon  the  ignorant 
and  timid,  and,  extending  by  degrees  to  such  as  were  bet- 
ter informed  or  more  resolute,  the  contagion  spread  at 
length  from  ship  to  ship.     From  secret  whispers  or  mur- 
murings  they  proceeded  to  open  cabals  and  public  com- 
plaints.    They  taxed  their  sovereign  with  inconsiderate 
credulity,  in  paying  such  regard  to  the  vain  promises  and 
rash  conjectures  of  an  indigent  foreigner,  as  to  hazard  the 
lives  of  so  many  of  her  own  subjects  in  prosecuting  a 
chimerical  scheme.     They  affirmed  that  they  had  fully 
performed  their  duty  by  venturing  so  far  in  an  unknown 
and  hopeless  course,  and  could  incur  no  blame  for  re- 
fusing to  follow  any  longer  a  desperate  adventurer  to  cer- 

4  tain  destruction.     They  contended  that  it  was  necessary 
to  think  of  returning  to  Spain  while  their  crazy  vessels 
were  still  in  a  condition  to  keep  the  sea,  but  expressed 
their  fears  that  the  attempt  would   prove  vain,  as  the 
wind,  which  had   hitherto   been   so  favorable  to  their 
course,  must  render  it  impossible  to  sail  in  the  opposite 
direction.     All  agreed   that  Columbus  should  be  com- 
pelled by  force  to  adopt  a  measure  on  which  their  com- 
mon safety  depended.     Some  of  the   more   audacious 
proposed,  as  the  most  expeditious  and  certain  method  for 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  245 

getting  rid  at  once  of  his  remonstrances,  to  throw  him 
into  the  sea,  being  persuaded  that,  upon  their  return  to 
Spain,  the  death  of  an  unsuccessful  projector  would  ex- 
cite little  concern,  and  be  inquired  into  with  no  curiosity. 

Columbus  was  fully  sensible  of  his  perilous  situation.  5 
He  had  observed,  with  great  uneasiness,  the  fatal  opera- 
tion of  ignorance  and  of  fear  in  producing  disaffection 
among  his  crew,  and  saw  that  it  was  now  ready  to  burst 
out  into  open  mutiny.  He  retained,  however,  perfect 
presence  of  rnind.  He  affected  to  seem  ignorant  of  their 
machinations.  Notwithstanding  the  agitation  and  solic- 
itude of  his  own  mind,  he  appeared  with  a  cheerful  coun- 
tenance, like  a  man  satisfied  with  the  progress  he  had 
made,  and  confident  of  success.  Sometimes  he  employed 
all  the  arts  of  insinuation  to  soothe  his  men.  Sometimes 
he  endeavored  to  work  upon  their  ambition  or  avarice  by 
magnificent  descriptions  of  the  fame  and  wealth  which 
they  were  about  to  acquire.  On  other  occasions  he  6 
assumed  a  tone  of  authority,  and  threatened  them  with 
vengeance  from  their  sovereign  if,  by  their  dastardly 
behavior,  they  should  defeat  this  noble  effort  to  promote 
the  glory  of  God  and  to  exalt  the  Spanish  name  above 
that  of  every  other  nation.  Even  with  seditious  sailors, 
the  words  of  a  man  whom  they  had  been  accustomed  to 
reverence,  were  weighty  and  persuasive,  and  not  only 
restrained  them  from  those  violent  excesses  which  they 
meditated,  but  prevailed  with  them  to  accompany  their 
admiral  for  some  time  longer. 

As  they  proceeded,  the  indications  of  approaching  7 
land  seemed  to  be  more  certain,  and  excited  hope  in  pro- 
portion. The  birds  began  to  appear  in  flocks,  making 
toward  the  southwest.  Columbus,  in  imitation  of  the 
Portuguese  navigators,  who  had  been  guided  in  several 
of  their  discoveries  by  the  motion  of  birds,  altered  his 


246  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

course  from  due  west  toward  that  quarter  whither  they 
pointed  their  flight.  But,  after  holding  on  for  several 
days  in  this  new  direction,  without  any  better  success 
than  formerly,  having  seen  no  object  during  thirty  days 
but  the  sea  and  the  sky,  the  hopes  of  his  companions 
subsided  faster  than  they  had  risen  ;  their  fears  revived 
with  additional  force ;  impatience,  rage,  and  despair  ap- 

8peared  in  every  countenance.  All  sense  of  subordination 
was  lost.  The  officers,  who  had  hitherto  concurred 
with  Columbus  in  opinion,  and  supported  his  authority, 
now  took  part  with  the  private  men ;  they  assembled 
tumultuously  on  the  deck,  expostulated  with  their  com- 
mander, mingled  threats  with  their  expostulations,  and 
required  him  instantly  to  tack  about  and  return  to  Eu- 
rope. Columbus  perceived  that  it  would  be  of  no  avail 
to  have  recourse  to  any  of  his  former  arts,  which,  having 
been  tried  so  often,  had  lost  their  effect ;  and  that  it  was 
impossible  to  rekindle  any  zeal  for  the  success  of  the 
expedition  among  men  in  whose  breasts  fear  had  extin- 
guished every  generous  sentiment.  He  saw  that  it  was 
no  less  vain  to  think  of  employing  either  gentle  or  severe 
measures  to  quell  a  mutiny  so  general  and  so  violent. 

9  It  was  necessary,  on  all  these  accounts,  to  soothe  passions 
which  he  could  no  longer  command,  and  to  give  way  to 
a  torrent  too  impetuous  to  be  checked.  He  promised 
solemnly  to  his  men  that  he  would  comply  with  their 
request,  provided  they  would  accompany  him  and  obey 
his  command  for  three  days  longer,  and  if,  during  that 
time,  land  were  not  discovered,  he  would  then  abandon 
the  enterprise,  and  direct  his  course  toward  Spain. 
10  Enraged  as  the  sailors  were,  and  impatient  to  turn 
their  faces  again  toward  their  native  country,  this  prop- 
osition did  not  appear  to  them  unreasonable;  nor  did 
Columbus  hazard  much  in  coniining  himself  to  a  term  so 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  247 

short.  The  presages  of  discovering  land  were  now  so 
numerous  and  promising  that  he  deemed  them  infallible. 
For  some  days  the  sounding-line  reached  the  bottom,  and 
the  soil  which  it  brought  up  indicated  land  to  be  at  no 
great  distance.  The  flocks  of  birds  increased,  and  were 
composed  not  only  of  sea-fowl,  but  of  such  land-birds  as 
could  not  be  supposed  to  fly  far  from  the  shore.  The 
crew  of  the  Pinta  observed  a  cane  floating,  which  seemed 
to  have  been  newly  cut,  and  likewise  a  piece  of  timber 
artificially  carved.  The  sailors  aboard  the  Nigna  took 
up  the  branch  of  a  tree  with  red  berries  perfectly  fresh. 
The  clouds  around  the  setting  sun  assumed  a  new  appear- 
ance ;  the  air  was  more  mild  and  warm,  and  during  night 
the  wind  became  unequal  and  variable.  From  all  these  11 
symptoms,  Columbus  was  so  confident  of  being  near  land, 
that  on  the  evening  of  the  llth  of  October,  after  pub- 
lic prayers  for  success,  he  ordered  the  sails  to  be  furled, 
and  the  ships  to  lie  to,  keeping  strict  watch  lest  they 
should  be  driven  ashore  in  the  night.  During  this  in- 
terval of  suspense  and  expectation,  no  man  shut  his  eyes, 
all  kept  upon  deck,  gazing  intently  toward  that  quarter 
where  they  expected  to  discover  the  land,  which  had  so 
long  been  the  object  of  their  wishes. 

About  two  hours  before  midnight,  Columbus,  stand- 12 
ing  on  the  forecastle,  observed  a  light  at  a  distance,  and 
privately  pointed  it  out  to  Pedro  Guttierez,  a  page  of 
the  queen's  wardrobe.  Guttierez  perceived  it,  and  calling 
to  Salcedo,  comptroller  of  the  fleet,  all  three  saw  it  in 
motion,  as  if  it  were  carried  from  place  to  place.  A  lit- 
tle after  midnight  the  joyful  sound  of  "  Land  !  Land  !  " 
was  heard  from  the  Pinta,  which  kept  always  ahead  of 
the  other  ships.  But  having  been  so  often  deceived  by 
fallacious  appearances,  every  man  was  now  become  slow 
of  belief,  and  waited  in  all  the  anguish  of  uncertainty 


248  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

and  impatience  for  the  return  of  day.  As  soon  as  morn- 
ing dawned,  all  doubts  and  fears  were  dispelled.  From 
every  ship  an  island  was  seen  about  two  leagues  to  the 
north,  whose  flat  and  verdant  fields,  well  stored  with 
wood,  and  watered  with  many  rivulets,  presented  the 
aspect  of  a  delightful  country. 

13  The   crew  of  the   Pinta   instantly  began   the   "  Te 
Deum,"  as  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving  to  God,  and  were 
joined  by  those  of  the  other  ships,  with  tears  of  joy  and 
transports  of  congratulation.     This  office  of  gratitude  to 
Heaven  was  followed  by  an  act  of  justice  to  their  com- 
mander.    They  threw  themselves  at  the  feet  of  Colum- 
bus, with   feeling  of  self-condemnation,  mingled  with 
reverence.     They  implored  him  to  pardon  their  ignor- 
ance, incredulity,  and  insolence,  which  had  created  him 
so  much  unnecessary  disquiet,  and  had  so  often  obstructed 
the  prosecution  of  his  well-concerted  plan ;  and  passing, 
in  the  warmth  of  their  admiration,  from  one  extreme  to 
another,  they  now  pronounced  the  man  whom  they  had 
so  lately  reviled  and  threatened,  to  be  a  person  inspired 
by  Heaven  with  sagacity  and  fortitude  more  than  human, 
in  order  to  accomplish  a  design  so  far  beyond  the  ideas 
and  conception  of  all  former  ages. 

14  As  soon  as  the  sun  arose,  all  their  boats  were  manned 
and  armed.     They  rowed  toward  the  island  with  their 
colors  displayed,  with  warlike  music,  and  other  martial 
pomp.     As  they  approached  the  coast,  they  saw  it  cov- 
ered with  a  multitude  of  people,  whom  the  novelty  of 
the  spectacle  had  drawn  together,  whose  attitudes  and 
gestures    expressed   wonder  and    astonishment   at    the 
strange  objects  which  presented  themselves  to  their  view. 
Columbus  was  the  first  European  who  set  foot  on  the 
new  world  which  he  had  discovered.     He  landed  in  a 
rich  dress,  and  with  a  naked  sword  in  his  hand.     His 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  249 

men  followed,  and,  kneeling  down,  they  all  kissed  the 
ground  which  they  had  so  long  desired  to  see.  They 
next  erected  a  crucifix,  and  prostrating  themselves  before 
it,  returned  thanks  to  God  for  conducting  their  voyage 
to  such  a  happy  issue.  They  then  took  solemn  possession 
of  the  country  for  the  crown  of  Castile  and  Leon,  with 
all  the  formalities  which  the  Portuguese  were  accustomed 
to  observe  in  acts  of  this  kind  in  their  new  discoveries. 

The  Spaniards,  while  thus  employed,  were  surrounded  15 
by  many  of  the  natives,  who  gazed  in  silent  admiration 
upon  actions  which  they  could  not  comprehend,  and  of 
which  they  did  not  foresee  the  consequences.  The  dress 
of  the  Spaniards,  the  whiteness  of  their  skins,  their  beards, 
their  arms,  appeared  strange  and  surprising.  The  vast 
machines  in  which  they  had  traversed  the  ocean,  that 
seemed  to  move  upon  the  waters  with  wings,  and  uttered 
a  dreadful  sound  resembling  thunder,  accompanied  with 
lightning  and  smoke,  struck  them  with  such  terror  that 
they  began  to  respect  their  new  guests  as  a  superior  order 
of  beings,  and  concluded  that  they  were  children  of  the 
sun,  who  had  descended  to  visit  the  earth. 

The  Europeans  were  hardly  less  amazed  at  the  scene  16 
now  before  them.  Every  herb  and  shrub  and  tree  was 
different  from  those  which  flourished  in  Europe.  The 
soil  seemed  to  be  rich,  but  bore  few  marks  of  cultivation. 
The  climate,  even  to  the  Spaniards,  felt  warm,  though 
extremely  delightful.  The  inhabitants  appeared  in  the 
simple  innocence  of  nature,  entirely  naked.  Their  black 
hair,  long  and  uncurled,  floated  upon  their  shoulders,  or 
was  bound  in  tresses  on  their  heads.  They  had  no  beards, 
and  every  part  of  their  bodies  was  perfectly  smooth. 
Their  complexion  was  of  a  dusky  copper-color,  their 
features  singular  rather  than  disagreeable,  their  aspect 
gentle  and  timid.  Though  not  tall,  they  were  well 


250  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

shaped  and  active.  Their  faces,  and  several  parts  of 
their  bodies,  were  fantastically  painted  with  glaring 
colors.  They  were  shy  at  first  through  fear,  but  soon 
became  familiar  with  the  Spaniards,  and  with  transports 
of  joy  received  from  them  hawk-bells,  glass  beads,  or 
other  baubles ;  in  return  for  which  they  gave  such  pro- 
visions as  they  had,  and  some  cotton  yarn,  the  only  com- 
ITmodity  of  value  which  they  could  produce.  Toward 
evening,  Columbus  returned  to  his  ship,  accompanied  by 
many  of  the  islanders  in  their  boats,  which  they  called 
canoes,  and,  though  rudely  formed  out  of  the  trunk  of  a 
single  tree,  they  rowed  them  with  surprising  dexterity. 
Thus,  in  the  first  interview  between  the  inhabitants  of 
the  old  and  new  worlds,  everything  was  conducted  ami- 
cably and  to  their  mutual  satisfaction.  The  former,  en- 
lightened and  ambitious,  formed  already  vast  ideas  with 
respect  to  the  advantages  which  they  might  derive  from 
the  regions  that  began  to  open  to  their  views.  The  lat- 
ter, simple  and  undiscerning,  had  no  foresight  of  the 
calamities  and  desolation  which  were  approaching  their 
country. 


CROMWELL'S   EXPULSION    OF  THE    PARLIAMENT 
IN    1653. 

LINGARD'S  "HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

Dr.  John  Lingard's  "  History  of  England  "  still  maintains  an  hon- 
orable place  in  our  historical  literature.  Some  of  his  conjectures  have 
been  recently  confirmed  by  documentary  evidence.  We  have  here 
a  description  of  the  expulsion  of  the  famous  Long  Parliament  by 
Oliver  Cromwell  in  1653.  This  act  of  violence  was  one  of  the  steps 
by  which  Cromwell  attained  absolute  power.  No  historical  charac- 
ter is  more  difficult  to  estimate  satisfactorily  than  Oliver  Cromwell. 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  251 

One  of  the  best  analyses  of  his  character  is  that  of  Von  Ranke,  given  in 
the  "  Reader/'  Perhaps  nothing  but  Puritanism  could  have  produced 
such  an  anomaly.  After  his  death  in  1658,  and  the  abdication  of  his 
son  Richard  Cromwell,  the  House  of  Stuart  was  restored  to  the 
throne  in  the  person  of  King  Charles  II,  son  of  King  Charles  I,  who 
was  beheaded  in  1649.  (See  Greene's  "  Short  History  of  the  English 
People";  Carlyle's  "Life  and  Letters  of  Cromwell.") 

AT  length  Cromwell  fixed  on  his  plan  to  procure  the  1 
dissolution  of  the  Parliament,  and  to  vest  for  a  time  the 
sovereign  authority  in  a  council  of  forty  persons,  with 
himself  at  their  head.  It  was  his  wish  to  effect  this  quiet- 
ly by  the  votes  of  the  Parliament — his  resolution  to  effect 
it  by  open  force,  if  such  votes  were  refused.  Several 
meetings  were  held  by  the  officers  and  members  at  the 
lodgings  of  the  lord-general  in  Whitehall.  St.  John 
and  a  few  others  gave  their  assent ;  the  rest,  under  the 
guidance  of  Whitelock  and  Widrington,  declared  that  the 
dissolution  would  be  dangerous,  and  the  establishment  of 
the  proposed  council  unwarrantable.  In  the  mean  time  2 
the  House  resumed  the  consideration  of  the  new  repre- 
sentative body  ;  and  several  qualifications  were  voted,  to 
all  of  which  the  officers  raised  objections,  but  chiefly  to 
the  "  admission  of  members,"  a  project  to  strengthen  the 
government  by  the  introduction  of  the  Presbyterian  in- 
terest. "  Never,"  said  Cromwell,  "  shall  any  of  that  judg- 
ment who  have  deserted  the  good  cause  be  admitted  to 
power."  On  the  last  meeting  held  on  the  19th  of  April, 
all  these  points  were  long  and  warmly  debated.  Some  of 
the  officers  declared  that  the  Parliament  must  be  dissolved 
"  one  way  or  other "  ;  but  the  general  checked  their  in- 
discretion and  precipitancy,  and  the  assembly  broke  up  at 
midnight,  with  an  understanding  that  the  leading  men  on 
•each  side  should  resume  the  subject  in  the  morning. 

At  an  early  hour  the  conference  was  recommenced,  3 


262  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

and,  after  a  short  time,  interrupted,  in  consequence  of  the 
receipt  of  a  notice  by  the  general  that  it  was  the  intention 
of  the  House  to  comply  with  the  desires  of  the  army. 
This  was  a  mistake;  the  opposite  party  had  indeed  re- 
solved to  pass  a  bill  of  dissolution  ;  not,  however,  the  bill 
proposed  by  the  officers,  but  their  own  bill,  containing  all 
the  obnoxious  provisions,  and  to  pass  it  that  very  morn- 
ing, that  it  might  obtain  the  force  of  law  before  their 
adversaries  could  have  time  to  appeal  to  the  power  of  the 
sword.  While  Harrison  "most  strictly  and  humbly" 
conjured  them  to  pause  before  they  took  so  important  a 
step,  Ingoldsby  hastened  to  inform  the  lord-general  at 
Whitehall.  His  resolution  was  immediately  formed,  and 
a  company  of  musketeers  received  orders  to  accompany 

4  him  to  the  House.  At  this  eventful  moment,  big  with 
the  most  important  consequences  both  to  himself  and  his 
country,  whatever  were  the  workings  of  Cromwell's  mind, 
he  had  the  art  to  conceal  them  from  the  eyes  of  the  be- 
holders. Leaving  the  military  in  the  lobby,  he  entered 
the  House,  and  composedly  seated  himself  on  one  of  the 
outer  benches.  His  dress  was  a  plain  suit  of  black  cloth, 
with  gray  worsted  stockings.  For  a  while  he  seemed  to 
listen  with  interest  to  the  debate ;  but  when  the  speaker 
was  going  to  put  the  question,  he  whispered  to  Harrison, 
"  This  is  the  time ;  I  must  do  it "  ;  and  rising,  put  off  his 
hat  to  address  the  House.  At  first  his  language  was  deco- 
rous, and  even  laudatory.  Gradually  he  became  more 
warm  and  animated ;  at  last  he  assumed  all  the  vehe- 
mence of  passion,  and  indulged  in  personal  vituperation. 

6  He  charged  the  members  with  self-seeking  and  profane- 
ness,  with  the  frequent  denial  of  justice,  and  numerous 
acts  of  oppression ;  with  idolizing  the  lawyers,  the  con- 
stant advocates  of  tyranny  ;  with  neglecting  the  men  who 
had  bled  for  them  in  the  field,  that  they  might  gain  the 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  253 

Presbyterians  who  had  apostatized  from  the  cause;  and 
with  doing  all  this  in  order  to  perpetuate  their  own  pow- 
er and  to  replenish  their  own  purses.  But  their  time  was 
come  ;  the  Lord  had  disowned  them  ;  he  had  chosen  more 
worthy  instruments  to  perform  his  work.  Here  the  ora- 
tor was  interrupted  by  Sir  Peter  Went  worth,  who  de- 
clared that  he  had  never  heard  language  so  unparliamen- 
tary— language,  too,  the  more  offensive,  because  it  was 
addressed  to  them  by  their  own  servant,  whom  they  had 
too  fondly  cherished,  and  whom,  by  their  unprecedented 
bounty,  they  had  made  what  %he  was.  At  these  words  6 
Cromwell  put  on  his  hat,  and,  springing  from  his  place, 
exclaimed,  "  Come,  come,  sir,  I  will  put  an  end  to  your 
prating."  For  a  few  seconds,  apparently  in  the  most  vio- 
lent agitation,  he  paced  forward  and  backward,  and  then, 
stamping  on  the  floor,  added  :  "  You  are  no  parliament ; 
I  say  you  are  no  parliament ;  bring  them  in,  bring  them 
in."  Instantly  the  door  opened,  and  Colonel  Worsley  en- 
tered, followed  by  more  than  twenty  musketeers.  "  This," 
cried  Sir  Henry  Vane,  "  is  not  honest ;  it  is  against  moral- 
ity and  common  honesty."  "  Sir  Henry  Vane,"  replied 
Cromwell ;  "  O,  Sir  Henry  Vane !  The  Lord  deliver  me 
from  Sir  Henry  Vane !  He  might  have  prevented  this. 
But  he  is  a  juggler,  and  has  not  common  honesty  him- 
self!" From  Vane  he  directed  his  discourse  to  White- 
lock,  on  whom  he  poured  a  torrent  of  abuse ;  then  point- 
ing to  Chaloner,  "There,"  he  cried,  "sits  a  drunkard"; 
and  afterward  selecting  different  members  in  succession, 
described  them  as  dishonest  and  corrupt  livers,  a  shame 
and  scandal  to  the  profession  of  the  gospel.  Suddenly,? 
however,  checking  himself,  he  turned  to  the  guard,  and 
ordered  them  to  clear  the  house.  At  these  words  Colonel 
Harrison  took  the  speaker  by  the  hand  and  led  him  from 
the  chair ;  Algernon  Sidney  was  next  compelled  to  quit 


254  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

his  seat ;  and  the  other  members,  eighty  in  number,  on 
the  approach  of  the  military,  rose  and  moved  toward  the 
door.  Cromwell  now  resumed  his  discourse.  "It  is 
you,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  have  forced  me  to  do  this.  I 
have  sought  the  Lord  both  day  and  night  that  he  would 
rather  slay  me  than  put  me  on  the  doing  of  this  work." 

8  Alderman  Allan  took  advantage  of  these  words  to  ob- 
serve, that  it  was  not  yet  too  late  to  undo  what  had  been 
done ;  but  Cromwell  instantly  charged  him  with  pecula- 
tion, and  gave  him  into  custody.     When  all  were  gone, 
fixing  his  eye  on  the  mace,  "  What,"  said  he,  "  shall  we  do 
with  this  fool's  bauble?     Here,  carry  it  away."     Then, 
taking  the  act  of  dissolution  from  the  clerk,  he  ordered 
the  doors  to  be  locked,  and,  accompanied  by  the  military, 
returned  to  Whitehall. 

9  That  afternoon  the  members  of  the  council  assem- 
bled  in  their  usual  place  of   meeting.      Bradshaw  had 
just  taken   the   chair,   when    the   lord-general    entered, 
and  told  them  that,  if  they  were  there  as  private  indi- 
viduals, they  were  welcome;  but  if  as  the  Council  of 
State,  they  must  know  that  the  parliament  was  dissolved, 
and  with  it  also  the  council.     "  Sir,"  replied  Bradshaw, 
with  the  spirit  of  an  ancient  Roman,  "  we  have  heard 
what  you  did  at  the  House  this  morning,  and  before 
many  hours  all  England  will  know  it.     But,  sir,  you  are 
mistaken  to  think  that  the  parliament  is  dissolved.     No 
power  under  heaven  can  dissolve  them  but  themselves; 

10  therefore,  take  you  notice  of  that."  After  this  protest 
they  withdrew.  Thus,  by  the  parricidal  hands  of  its  own 
children,  perished  the  Long  Parliament,  which,  under  a 
variety  of  forms,  had,  for  more  than  twelve  years,  defend- 
ed and  invaded  the  liberties  of  the  nation.  It  fell  without 
a  struggle  or  a  groan,  unpitied  and  unregretted.  The 
members  slunk  away  to  their  homes,  where  they  sought 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  255 

by  submission  to  purchase  the  forbearance  of  their  new 
master;  and  their  partisans,  if  partisans  they  had,  re- 
served themselves  in  silence  for  a  day  of  retribution, 
which  came  not  before  Cromwell  slept  in  his  grave.  The 
royalists  congratulated  each  other  on  an  event  which  they 
deemed  a  preparatory  step  to  the  restoration  of  the  king ; 
the  army  and  navy,  in  numerous  addresses,  declared  that 
they  would  live  and  die,  stand  and  fall,  with  the  lord- 
general  ;  and  in  every  part  of  the  country  the  congrega- 
tions of  the  saints  magnified  the  arm  of  the  Lord,  which 
had  broken  the  mighty,  that  in  lieu  of  the  sway  of  mor- 
tal men,  the  fifth  monarchy,  the  reign  of  Christ  might  be 
established  on  earth. 

It  would,  however,  be  unjust  to  the  memory  of  those  11 
who  exercised  the  supreme  power  after  the  death  of  the 
king,  not  to  acknowledge  that  there  existed  among  them 
men  capable  of  wielding  with  energy  the  destinies  of  a 
great  empire.  They  governed  only  four  years;  yet, 
under  their  auspices,  the  conquests  of  Ireland  and  Scot- 
land were  achieved,  and  a  navy  was  created,  the  rival  of 
that  of  Holland  and  the  terror  of  the  rest  of  Europe. 
But  there  existed  an  essential  error  in  their  form  of  gov- 
ernment. Deliberative  assemblies  are  always  slow  in 
their  proceedings ;  yet  the  pleasure  of  parliament,  as  the 
supreme  power,  was  to  be  taken  on  every  subject  con- 
nected with  the  foreign  relations  or  the  internal  admin- 
istration of  the  country;  and  hence  it  happened  that, 
among  the  immense  variety  of  questions  which  came  be- 
fore it,  those  commanded  immediate  attention  which  were 
deemed  of  immediate  necessity  ;  while  the  others,  though 
often  of  the  highest  importance  to  the  national  welfare, 
were  first  postponed,  then  neglected,  and  ultimately  for- 
gotten. To  this  habit  of  procrastination  was  perhaps 
owing  the  extinction  of  its  authority.  It  disappointed 


256  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

the  hopes  of  the  country,  and  supplied  Cromwell  with 
the  most  plausible  arguments  in  defense  of  his  con- 
duct. 


WHAT  A  GOOD    HISTORY  OUGHT  TO    BE. 

OABLYLE'S   "ESSAY    ON    BOSWELL'S    LIFE    OF   JOHNSON." 

{See  note  on  the  same  subject,  extract  from  Macaulay.) 

1  IT  is  not  speaking  with  exaggeration,  but  with  strict 
measured  sobriety,  to  say  that  this  book  of  Bos  well's  will 
give  us  more  real  insight  into  the  history  of  England 
during  those  days  than  twenty  other  books,  falsely  en- 
titled "  Histories,"  which  take  to  themselves  that  special 
aim.  What  good  is  it  to  me  though  innumerable  Smol- 
letts  and  Belshams  keep  dinning  in  my  ears  that  a  man 
named  George  III  was  born  and  bred  up,  and  a  man 
named  George  II  died ;  that  Walpole,  and  the  Pelhams, 
and  Chatham,  and  Rockingham,  and  Shelburne,  and 
Worth,  with  their  Coalition  or  their  Separation  Minis- 
tries, all  ousted  one  another ;  and  vehemently  scrambled 
for  "  the  thing  they  called  the  rudder  of  government,  but 
which  was  in  reality  the  spigot  of  taxation  "  ?  That  de- 
bates were  held,  and  infinite  jarring  and  jargoning  took 
place ;  and  road-bills,  and  inclosure-bills,  and  game-bills, 
and  India-bills,  and  laws  which  no  man  can  number, 
which  happily  few  men  needed  to  trouble  their  heads 
with  beyond  the  passing  moment,  were  enacted,  and 
printed  by  the  king's  stationer?  That  he  who  sat  in 
Chancery,  and  rayed-out  speculation  from  the  Woolsack, 
was  now  a  man  that  squinted,  now  a  man  that  did  not 

2 squint?  To  the  hungry  and  thirsty  mind  all  this  av&!l? 
next  to  nothing.  These  men  and  these  things,  we  indeed 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  2S7 

know,  did  swim,  by  strength  or  by  specific  levity,  as  apples 
on  the  top  of  the  current ;  but  is  it  by  painfully  noting 
the  courses,  eddyings,  and  bobbings  hither  and  thither  of 
such  drift-articles  that  you  will  unfold  to  me  the  nature 
of  the  current  itself ;  of  that  mighty-rolling,  loud-roaring 
life-current,  bottomless  as  the  foundations  of  the  universe, 
mysterious  as  its  Author?  The  thing  I  want  to  see  is 
not  Eedbook  Lists,  and  Court  Calendars,  and  Parliament- 
ary Registers,  but  the  LIFE  OF  MAN  in  England  ;  what  men 
did,  thought,  suffered,  enjoyed ;  the  form,  especially  the 
spirit,  of  their  terrestrial  existence,  its  outward  environ- 
ment, its  inward  principle ;  how  and  what  it  was ;  whence 
it  proceeded,  whither  it  was  tending. 

Mournful,  in  truth,  is  it  to  behold  what  the  business  3 
called  u  History,"  in  these  so  enlightened  and  illuminated 
times,  still  continues  to  be.  Can  you  gather  from  it,  read 
till  your  eyes  go  out,  any  dimmest  shadow  of  an  answer 
to  that  great  question :  How  men  lived  and  had  their 
being ;  were  it  but  economically,  as,  what  wages  they 
got,  and  what  they  bought  with  these  ?  Unhappily  you 
can  not.  History  will  throw  no  light  on  any  such  matter. 
At  the  point  where  living  memory  fails,  it  is  all  dark- 
ness ;  Mr.  Senior  and  Mr.  Sadler  must  still  debate  this 
simplest  of  all  elements  in  the  condition  of  the  past. 
Whether  men  were  better  off  in  their  mere  larders  and 
pantries,  or  were  worse  off  than  now!  History,  as  it 
stands  all  bound  up  in  gilt  volumes,  is  but  a  shade  more 
instructive  than  the  wooden  volumes  of  a  backgammon 
board.  How  my  prime  minister  was  appointed  is  of  less 
moment  to  me  than  how  my  house-servant  was  hired.  In 
these  days,  ten  ordinary  histories  of  kings  and  courtiers 
were  well  exchanged  against  the  tenth  part  of  one  good 
history  of  booksellers. 

For  example,  I  would  fain  know  the  history  of  Scot- 4 


258  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

land ;  who  can  tell  it  me  ?  "  Robertson,"  say  innumerable 
voices ;  "  Robertson  against  the  world."  I  open  Robert- 
son ;  and  find  there,  through  long  ages  too  confused  for 
narrative,  and  tit  only  to  be  presented  in  the  way  of 
epitome  and  distilled  essence,  a  cunning  answer  and 
hypothesis,  not  to  this  question.  By  whom,  and  by  what 
means,  when  and  how,  was  this  fair,  broad  Scotland,  with 
its  arts  and  manufactures,  temples,  schools,  institutions, 
poetry,  spirit,  national  character,  created  and  made  arable, 
verdant,  peculiar,  great,  here  as  I  can  see  some  fair  sec- 
tion of  it  lying,  kind  and  strong  (like  some  Bacchus- 
tamed  lion),  from  the  Castle-hill  of  Edinburgh ! — but  to 
this  other  question :  How  did  the  King  keep  himself 
alive  in  those  old  days ;  and  restrain  so  many  butcher- 
barons  and  ravenous  henchmen  from  utterly  extirpating 
one  another,  so  that  killing  went  on  in  some  sort  of 
moderation  ?  In  the  one  little  letter  of  ./Eneas  Sylvius, 
from  old  Scotland,  there  is  more  of  history  than  in  all 

5  this.     At  length,  however,  we  come  to  a  luminous  age, 
interesting  enough :  to  the  age  of  the  Reformation.     All 
Scotland  is  awakened,  Scotland  is  convulsed,  fermenting, 
struggling  to  body  itself  forth  anew.     To  the  herdsman, 
among  his  cattle  in  remote  woods ;  to  the  craftsman,  in 
his  rude,  heath-thatched  workshop,  among  his  rude  guild- 
brethren  ;  to  the  great  and  to  the  little,  a  new  light  has 
arisen:   in  town  and  hamlet  groups  are  gathered,  with 
eloquent  looks,  and  governed  or  ungovernable  tongues. 
We  ask,  with  breathless  eagerness :   How  was  it ;  how 
went  it  on  ?    Let  us  understand  it,  let  us  see  it,  and  know 

6  it !     In  reply,  is  handed  us  a  really  graceful  and  most 
dainty  little  Scandalous  Chronicle  (as  for  some  Journal 
of  Fashion)  of  two  persons :  Mary  Stuart,  a  beauty,  but 
over  light-headed  ;  and  Henry  Darnley,  a  booby  who  had 
fine  legs.     How  these  first  courted,  billed,  and  cooed,  ac-. 


HISTORICAL  HEADINGS. 

cording  to  nature  ;  then  pouted,  fretted,  grew  utterly  en- 
raged, and  blew  one  another  up  with  gunpowder :  this, 
and  not  the  history  of  Scotland,  is  what  we  good-nat- 
uredly read.  Nay,  by  other  hands,  something  like  a  horse- 
load  of  other  books  has  been  written  to  prove  that  it  was 
the  beauty  who  blew  up  the  booby,  and  that  it  was  not 
she.  Who  or  what  it  was,  the  thing  once  for  all  being 
so  effectually  done,  concerns  us  little.  To  know  Scot- 
land at  that  great  epoch,  were  a  valuable  increase  of 
knowledge :  to  know  poor  Darnley,  and  see  him  with 
burning  candle,  from  center  to  skin,  were  no  increase  of 
knowledge  at  all.  Thus  is  history  written. 

Hence,  indeed,  comes  it  that  history,  which  should  be 
"the  essence  of  innumerable  biographies,"  will  tell  us, 7 
question  it  as  we  like,  less  than  one  genuine  biography 
may  do,  pleasantly  and  of  its  own  accord  !  The  time  is 
approaching  when  history  will  be  attempted  on  quite 
other  principles;  when  the  court,  the  senate,  and  the 
battle-field,  receding  more  and  more  into  the  background, 
the  temple,  the  workshop,  and  social  hearth  will  advance 
more  and  more  into  the  foreground  ;  and  history  will 
not  content  itself  with  shaping  some  answer  to  that  ques- 
tion :  How  were  men  taxed  and  kept  quiet  then  ?  but 
will  seek  to  answer  this  other  infinitely  wider  and  higher 
question :  How  and  what  were  men  then  ?  Not  our 
Government  only,  or  the  "  house  wherein  our  life  was 
led,"  but  the  life  itself  we  led  there,  will  be  inquired 
into.  Of  which  latter  it  may  be  found  that  government, 
in  any  modern  sense  of  the  word,  is,  after  all,  but  a  sec- 
ondary condition :  in  the  mere  sense  of  taxation  and 
keeping  quiet,  a  small,  almost  a  pitiful  one.  Meanwhile 
let  us  welcome  such  Boswells,  each  in  his  degree,  as 
bring  us  any  genuine  contribution,  were  it  never  so  in- 
adequate, so  inconsiderable. 
18 


260  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

THE    DUKE  OF  MARLBOROUGH.— ESTIMATE  OF  HIS 
MILITARY  GENIUS.— HIS   RANK  AS  A  STATESMAN. 

LECKY'S  "ENGLAND  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  OENTUKY." 

This  estimate  of  Maryborough  can  not  fail  to  excite  the  interest 
of  the  student.  Maryborough  was  the  greatest  of  English  generals. 
His  most  brilliant  successes  were  achieved  during  the  great  war  of 
the  Spanish  succession.  Maryborough's  genius  was  of  a  versatile 
order.  He  was  a  politician,  a  diplomatist,  a  courtier,  and  a  soldier. 
His  character  has  been  variously  estimated.  Some  have  accused 
him  of  avarice  and  rapacity,  while  others  have  vindicated  him  from 
these  charges.  In  regard  to  his  intellectual  greatness,  all  are  agreed. 
(See  Alison's  "Life  of  Maryborough.") 

1  BEYOND  comparison  the  greatest  of  English  generals, 
Marlborough  had  raised  his  country  to  a  height  of  mili- 
tary glory  such  as  it  had  never  attained  since  the  days  of 
Poitiers  and  of  Agincourt,  and  his  victories  appeared  all 
the  more  dazzling  after  the  ignominious  reigns  of  the  two 
last  Stuarts,  and  after  the  many  failures  that  checkered 
the  enterprises  of  William.     His  military  genius,  though 
once  bitterly  decried  by  party  malignity,  will  now  be 
universally  acknowledged,  and  it  was  sufficient  to  place 
him  among  the  greatest  captains  who  have  ever  lived. 
Hardly  any  other  modern  general  combined  to  an  equal 
degree  the  three  great  attributes  of  daring,  caution,  and 
sagacity,  or  conducted  military  enterprises  of  equal  mag- 
nitude and  duration  without  losing  a  single  battle  or 

2  failing  in  a  single  siege.     He  was  one  of  the  very  few 
commanders  who  appear  to  have  shown  equal  skill  in 
directing  a  campaign,  in  winning  a  battle,  and  in  im- 
proving a  victory.     It  can  not,  indeed,  be  said  of  him, 
as  it  may  be  said  of  Frederick  the  Great,  that  he  was  at 
the  head  of  a  small  power,  with  almost  all  Europe  in 
arms  against  it,  and  that  nearly  every  victory  he  won  was 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  261 

snatched  from  an  army  enormously  outnumbering  his 
own.  At  Blenheim  and  Oudenarde  the  French  exceeded 
by  a  few  thousands  the  armies  of  the  allies.  At  Ramil- 
lies  the  army  of  Marlborough  was  slightly  superior.  At 
Malplaquet  the  opposing  forces  were  almost  equal.  Nor 
did  the  circumstances  of  Marlborough  admit  of  a  military 
career  of  the  same  brilliancy,  variety,  and  magnitude  of 
enterprise  as  that  of  Napoleon.  But  both  Frederick  and  3 
Napoleon  experienced  crushing  disasters,  and  both  of 
them  had  some  advantages  which  Marlborough  did  not 
possess.  Frederick  was  the  absolute  ruler  of  a  state 
which  had  for  many  years  been  governed  exclusively 
on  the  military  principle,  in  which  the  first  and  almost 
the  sole  object  of  the  government  had  been  to  train  and 
discipline  the  largest  and  most  perfect  army  the  nation 
could  support.  Napoleon  was  the  absolute  ruler  of  the 
foremost  military  power  on  the  Continent  at  a  time  when 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  great  revolution  had  given  it  an  un- 
paralleled energy,  when  the  destruction  of  the  old  hie- 
rarchy of  rank  and  the  opening  of  all  posts  to  talent  had 
brought  an  extraordinary  amount  of  ability  to  the  fore- 
front, and  when  the  military  administrations  of  sur- 
rounding nations  were  singularly  decrepit  and  corrupt. 
Marlborough,  on  the  other  hand,  commanded  armies  con- 4 
sisting  in  a  great  degree  of  confederates  and  mercenaries 
of  many  different  nationalities,  and  under  many  different 
rulers.  He  was  thwarted  at  every  step  by  political  ob- 
stacles, and  by  the  much  graver  obstacles  arising  from 
divided  command  and  personal  or  national  jealousies;  he 
contended  against  the  first  military  nation  of  the  Conti- 
nent, at  a  time  when  its  military  organization  had  attained 
the  highest  perfection,  and  when  a  long  succession  of 
brilliant  wars  had  given  it  a  school  of  officers  of  consum- 
mate skill. 


262  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

5  But  great  as  were  his  military  gifts,  they  would  have 
been  insufficient  had  they  not  been  allied  with  other 
qualities  well  fitted  to  win  the  admiration  of  men.    Adam 
Smith  has  said,  with  scarcely  an  exaggeration,  that  "  it  is 
a  characteristic  almost  peculiar  to  the  great   Duke  of 
Marlborough,  that  ten  years  of  such  uninterrupted  and 
such  splendid  successes  as  scarce  any  other  general  could 
boast  of,  never  betrayed  him  into  a  single  rash  action, 
scarcely  into  a  single  rash  word  or  expression."     Nothing 
in  his  career  is  more  admirable  than  the  unwearied  r>a- 

A 

tience,  the  inimitable  skill,  the  courtesy,  the  tact,  the  self- 
command  with  which  he  employed  himself  during  many 
years  in  reconciling  the  incessant  differences,  overcoming 
the  incessant  opposition,  and  soothing  the  incessant  jeal- 
ousies of  those  with  whom  he  was  compelled  to  cooperate. 
His  private  correspondence  abundantly  shows  how  gross 
was  the  provocation  he  endured,  how  keenly  he  felt  it, 

6  how  nobly  he  bore  it.     As  a  negotiator  he  ranks  with  the 
most  skillful  diplomatists  of  his  age,  and  it  was  no  doubt 
his  great  tact  in  managing  men  that  induced  his  old  rival 
Bolingbroke,  in  one  of  his  latest  writings,  to  describe  him 
as  not  only  the  greatest  general,  but  also  "  the  greatest 
minister  our  country  or  any  other  has  produced."   Chester- 
field, while  absurdly  depreciating  his  intellect,  admitted 
that  "  his  manner  was  irresistible,"  and  he  added  that,  of 
all  men  he  had  ever  known,  Marlborough  "  possessed  the 
graces  in  the  highest  degree."    Nor  was  his  character 
without  its  softer  side.     Though  he  can  not,  I  think,  be 
acquitted  of  a  desire  to  prolong  war  in  the  interests  of 
his  personal  or  political  ambition,  it  is  at  least  true  that 
no  general  ever  studied  more,  by  admirable  discipline  and 

7  by  uniform  humanity,  to  mitigate  its  horrors.     Very  few 
friendships  among  great  political  or  military  leaders  have 
been  as  constant  or  as  unclouded  by  any  shade  of  jealousy 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  263 

as  the  friendship  between  Marlborough  and  Godolphin, 
and  between  Marlborough  and  Eugene.  His  conjugal 
fidelity,  in  a  time  of  great  laxity,  and  under  temptations 
and  provocations  of  no  common  order,  was  beyond  re- 
proach. His  attachment  to  the  Church  of  England  was 
at  one  time  the  great  obstacle  to  his  advancement.  It 
appears  never  to  have  wavered  through  all  the  vicissitudes 
of  his  life  ;  and  no  one  who  reads  his  most  private  letters 
with  candor  can  fail  to  perceive  that  a  certain  vein  of 
genuine  piety  ran  through  his  nature,  however  inconsist- 
ent it  may  appear  with  some  portions  of  his  career. 

Yet  it  may  be  questioned  whether,  even  in  the  zenith  8 
of  his  fame,  he  was  really  popular.  He  had  grave  vices, 
and  they  were  precisely  of  that  kind  which  is  most  fatal 
to  public  men.  His  extreme  rapacity  in  acquiring  and 
his  extreme  avarice  in  hoarding  money  contrasted  forci- 
bly with  the  lavish  generosity  of  Ormond,  and  alone  gave 
weight  to  the  charges  of  peculation  that  were  brought 
against  him.  It  is  true  that  this,  like  all  his  passions, 
was  under  control.  Torcy  soon  found  that  it  was  useless 
to  attempt  to  bribe  him,  and  he  declined,  as  we  have 
seen,  with  little  hesitation  the  enormously  lucrative  post 
of  Governor  of  the  Austrian  Netherlands,  when  he  found 
that  the  appointment  aroused  the  strong  and  dangerous 
hostility  of  the  Dutch.  In  these  cases  his  keen  and  far- 9 
seeing  judgment  perceived  clearly  his  true  interest,  and 
he  had  sufficient  resolution  to  follow  it.  Yet  still,  like 
many  men  who  have  risen  from  great  poverty  to  great 
wealth,  avarice  was  the  passion  of  his  life,  and  the 
rapacity  both  of  himself  and  of  his  wife  was  insatiable. 
Besides  immense  grants  for  Blenheim,  and  marriage  por- 
tions given  by  the  queen  to  their  daughters,  they  at  one 
time  received  between  them  an  annual  income  of  public 
money  of  more  than  sixty-four  thousand  pounds. 


264  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

10  Nor  can  he  be  acquitted  of  very  gross  and  aggravated 
treachery  to  those  he  served.     It  is,  indeed,  not  easy  to 
form  a  fair  estimate  in  tliis  respect  of  the  conduct  of  pub- 
lic men  at  the  period  of  the  Revolution.      Historians 
rarely  make  sufficient  allowance  for  the  degree  in  which 
the  judgments  and  dispositions  even  of  the  best  men  are 
colored  by  the  moral  tone  of  the  age,  society,  or  profes- 
sion in  which  they  live,  or  for  the  temptations  of  men  of 
great  genius  and  of  natural  ambition  in  times  when  no 
highly  scrupulous  man  could  possibly  succeed  in  public 
life     Maryborough  struggled  into  greatness  from  a  very 
humble  position,  in  one  of  the  most  profligate  periods  of 
English  politics,  and  he  lived  through  a  long  period  when 
the  ultimate  succession  of  the  crown  was  very  doubtful. 

11  A  very  large  proportion  of  the  leading  statesmen  during 
this  long  season  of  suspense  made  such  overtures  to  the 
deposed  dynasty  as  would  at  least  secure  them  from  abso- 
lute ruin  in  the  event  of  a  change ;  and  their  conduct  is 
surely  susceptible  of  much  palliation.     The  apparent  in- 
terests and  the  apparent  wishes  of  the  nation  hung  so 
evenly  and  oscillated  so  frequently  that  strong  convic- 
tions were  rare,  and  even  good  men  might  often  be  in 
doubt.     But  the  obligations  of  Churchill  to  James  were 
of  no  common  order,  and  his  treachery  was  of  no  com- 
mon  dye.     He   had   been   raised  by  the  special   favor 
of  Ins  sovereign  from  the  position  of  a  page  to  the  peer- 
age, to  great  wealth,  to  high  command  in  the  army.     He 
had  been  trusted  by  him  with  the  most  absolute  trust. 
He  not  only  abandoned  him  in  the  crisis  of  his  fate,  with 
circumstances   of   the  most   deliberate   and    aggravated 
treachery,   but   also   employed    his    influence   over  the 
daughter  of  his  benefactor  to  induce  her  to  fly  from  her 

12  father,  and  to  array  herself  with  his  enemies.     Such  con- 
duct, if  it  had,  indeed,  been  dictated,  as  he  alleged,  solely 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  265 

by  a  regard  for  the  interests  of  Protestantism,  would 
have  been  certainly,  in  the  words  of  Hume,  "a  signal 
sacrifice  to  public  virtue  of  every  duty  in  private  life " ; 
and  it  "  required  ever  after  the  most  upright,  disinter- 
ested, and  public-spirited  behavior  to  render  it  justifi- 
able." How  little  the  later  career  of  Marlborough  ful- 
filled this  condition  is  well  known.  When  we  find  that, 
having  been  loaded  under  the  new  government  with 
titles,  honors,  and  wealth,  having  been  placed  in  the 
inner  council,  and  intrusted  with  the  most  important 
state  secrets,  he  was  one  of  the  first  Englishmen  to  enter 
into  negotiations  with  St.  Germain's ;  that  he  purchased 
his  pardon  from  James  by  betraying  important  military 
secrets  to  the  enemies  of  his  country,  and  that  during  a 
great  part  of  his  subsequent  career,  while  holding  office 
under  the  government,  he  was  secretly  negotiating  with 
the  Pretender,  it  is  difficult  not  to  place  the  worst  con- 
struction upon  his  public  life.  It  is  probable,  indeed,  that  13 
his  negotiations  with  the  Jacobites  were  never  sincere, 
that  he  had  no  real  desire  for  a  restoration,  and  that  his 
guiding  motive  was  much  less  ambition  than  a  desire  to 
secure  what  he  possessed ;  but  these  considerations  only 
slightly  palliate  his  conduct.  At  the  period  of  his  down- 
fall, his  later  acts  of  treason  were  for  the  most  part  un- 
known, but  his  conduct  toward  James  weighed  heavily 
upon  his  reputation,  and  his  intercourse  with  the  Pre- 
tender, though  not  proved,  was  at  least  suspected  by 
many.  Neither  Hanoverians  nor  Jacobites  trusted  him, 
neither  Whigs  nor  Tories  could  regard  him  without  re- 
serve as  their  own. 

And  with  this  feeling  of  distrust  there  was  mingled  a  14 
strong  element  of  fear.     In  the  latter  years  of  Queen 
Anne  the  shadow  of  Cromwell  fell  darkly  across  the  path 
of  Marlborough.     To  those  who  prefer  the  violent  meth- 


266  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ods  of  a  reforming  despotism  to  the  slow  process  of  par- 
liamentary amelioration,  to  those  who  despise  the  wisdom 
of  following  public  opinion  and  respecting  the  prejudices 
and  the  associations  of  a  nation,  there  can  be  no  better 
lesson  than  is  furnished  by  the  history  of  Cromwell.  Of 
his  high  and  commanding  abilities  it  is  not  here  necessary 
to  speak,  nor  yet  of  the  traits  of  magnanimity  that  may, 
no  doubt,  be  found  in  his  character.  Everything  that 
great  genius  and  the  most  passionate  sympathy  could  do 
to  magnify  these  has  in  this  century  been  done,  and  a 
long  period  of  unqualified  depreciation  has  been  followed 

15  by  a  reaction  of  extravagant  eulogy.     But  the  more  the 
qualities  of  the  man  are  exalted  the  more  significant  are 
the  lessons  of  his  life.     Despising  the  national  sentiment 
of  loyalty,  he  and  his  party  dethroned  and  beheaded  the 
king.     Despising  the   ecclesiastical  sentiment,  they  de- 
stroyed the  Church.     Despising  the  deep  reverence  for 
the  constitution,  they  subverted  the  Parliament.     Despis- 
ing the  oldest  and  most  cherished  customs  of  the  people, 
they  sought  to  mold  the  whole  social  life  of  England  in 
the  die  of  an  austere  Puritanism.     They  seemed  for  a 
time  to  have  succeeded,  but  the  result  soon   appeared. 
Republican  equality  was  followed  by  the  period  of  most 

16  obsequious,  servile  loyalty  England  has  ever  known.    The 
age  when  every  amusement  was  denounced  as  a  crime  was 
followed  by  the  age  when  all  virtue  was  treated  as  hypoc- 
risy, and  when  the  sense  of  shame  seemed  to  have  almost 
vanished  from  the  land.     The  prostration  of  the  Church 
was  followed,  with  the  full  approbation  of  the  bulk  of  the 
nation,  by  the  bitter,  prolonged  persecution  of  Dissenters. 
The  hated  memory  of  the  Commonwealth  was  for  more 
than  a  century  appealed  to  by  every  statesman  who  de- 
sired to  prevent  reform  or  discredit  liberty,  and  the  name 
of  Cromwell  gathered  around  it  an  intensity  of  hatred 


XTKI  7EBSITY  ) 
HISTORICAL  READINGS.^  ,          267 

*£4L 
approached  by  no  other  in  the  history  of  England.     This 

was  the  single  sentiment  common  in  all  its  vehemence  to 
the  Episcopalians  of  England,  the  Presbyterians  of  Scot- 
land, and  the  Catholics  of  Ireland,  and  it  had  more  than 
once  considerable  political  effects.  The  profound  horror  17 
of  military  despotism,  which  is  one  of  the  strongest  and 
most  salutary  of  English  sentiments,  has  been,  perhaps, 
the  most  valuable  legacy  of  the  Commonwealth.  In 
Marlborough,  for  the  first  time  since  the  Kestoration,  men 
saw  a  possible  Cromwell,  and  they  looked  forward  with 
alarm  to  the  death  of  the  queen  as  a  period  peculiarly 
propitious  to  military  usurpation.  Bolingbroke  never 
represented  more  happily  the  feelings  of  the  people  than 
in  the  well-known  scene  at  the  first  representation  of  the 
"Cato"  of  Addison.  Written  by  a  great  Whig  writer, 
the  play  was  intended  to  advocate  Whig  sentiments ;  but 
when  the  Whig  audience  had  made  the  theatre  ring  with 
applause  at  every  speech  on  the  evil  of  despotism  and 
arbitrary  principles,  the  Tory  leader  availed  himself  of 
the  pause  between  the  acts  to  summon  the  chief  actor,  to 
present  him  with  a  purse  of  money,  and  to  thank  him 
publicly  for  having  defended  the  cause  of  liberty  so  well 
against  a  perpetual  military  dictator. 


REFLECTIONS    UPON    THE   ENGLISH    REVOLUTION 
OF    1688. 

LECKY'S  u  ENGLAND  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY." 

The  English  Revolution  of  1688  was  purely  a  constitutional 
revolution.  It  established  religious  toleration  in  England  and  in 
Scotland,  it  settled  constitutional  monarchy  on  a  firm  basis,  and 
regulated  the  powers  of  the  House  of  Commons,  the  popular  or  rep- 


268  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

resentative  branch  of  the  government.  The  political  tendencies  of 
the  times  coincided  with  the  critical  tendencies  then  developing  in 
English  literature,  which  soon  appeared  so  conspicuously  in  the 
age  of  Anne. 

See  ''Freeman on  the  English  Constitution,"  Von  Ranke's  "  Hi- 
tory  of  England,  principally  in  the  Seventeenth  Century,"  Macau- 
lay's  "  History  of  England,"  Macaulay's  "  Essays." 

1  THE  English  Kevolution  belongs  to  a  class  of  success- 
ful measures  of  which  there  are  very  few  examples  in 
history.  In  most  cases  where  a  permanent  change  has 
been  effected  in  the  government  and  in  the  modes  of  po- 
litical thinking  of  a  country,  this  has  been  mainly  be- 
cause the  nation  has  become  ripe  for  it  through  the  action 
of  general  causes.  A  doctrine  which  had  long  been  fer- 
vently held,  and  which  was  interwoven  with  the  social 
fabric,  is  sapped  by  intellectual  skepticism,  loses  its  hold 
on  the  affections  of  the  people,  and  becomes  unrealized, 
obsolete,  and  incredible.  An  institution  which  was  once 
useful  and  honored  has  become  unsuited  to  the  altered 
conditions  of  society.  The  functions  it  once  dischar 
are  no  longer  needed,  or  are  discharged  more  efficiently 
in  other  ways,  and,  as  modes  of  thought  and  life  grow  up 
that  are  not  in  harmony  with  it,  the  reverence  that  con- 

Ssecrates  it  slowly  ebbs  away.  Social  and  economical 
causes  change  the  relative  importance  of  classes  and  pro- 
fessions till  the  old  political  arrangements  no  longer  re- 
flect with  any  fidelity  the  real  disposition  of  power.  Causes 
of  this  kind  undermine  institutions  and  prepare  great 
changes,  and  it  is  only  when  they  have  fully  done  their 
work  that  the  men  arise  who  strike  the  final  blow,  and 
whose  names  are  associated  with  the  catastrophe.  Who- 
ever will  study  the  history  of  the  downfall  of  the  Roman 
Republic ;  of  the  triumph  of  Christianity  in  the  Roman 
Empire;  of  the  dissolution  of  that  empire;  of  the  medi- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  269 

seval  transition  from  slavery  to  serfdom  ;  of  the  Keforma- 
tion,  or  of  the  French  Revolution,  may  easily  convince 
himself  that  each  of  these  great  changes  was  the  result  of 
a  long  series  of  religious,  social,  political,  economical,  and 
intellectual  causes,  extending  over  many  generations.  So 
eminently  is  this  the  case,  that  some  distinguished  writers 
have  maintained  that  the  action  of  special  circumstances 
and  of  individual  genius,  efforts,  and  peculiarities,  counts 
for  nothing  in  the  great  march  of  human  affairs,  and  that 
every  successful  revolution  must  be  attributed  solely  to 
the  long  train  of  intellectual  influences  that  prepared  and 
necessitated  its  triumph. 

It  is  not  difficult,  however,  to  show  that  this,  like  3 
most  very  absolute  historical  generalizations,  is  an  exag- 
geration, and  several  instances  might  be  cited  in  which  a 
slight  change  in  the  disposition  of  circumstances,  or  in 
the  action  of  individuals,  would  have  altered  the  whole 
course  of  history.  There  are,  indeed,  few  streams  of 
tendency,  however  powerful,  that  might  not,  at  some 
early  period  of  their  career,  have  been  arrested  or  de- 
flected. Thus  the  whole  religious  and  moral  sentiment 
of  the  most  advanced  nations  of  the  world  has  been 
mainly  determined  by  the  influence  of  that  small  nation 
which  inhabited  Palestine ;  but  there  have  been  periods 
when  it  was  more  than  probable  that  the  Jewish  race 
would  have  been  as  completely  absorbed  or  extirpated  as 
were  the  ten  tribes,  and  every  trace  of  the  Jewish  writ- 
ings blotted  from  the  world.  Not  less  distinctive,  not  4 
less  unique  in  its  kind,  has  been  the  place  which  the 
Greek,  and  especially  the  Athenian,  intellect  has  occupied 
in  history.  It  has  been  the  great  dynamic  agency  in  Eu- 
ropean civilization.  Directly  or  indirectly  it  has  contrib- 
uted, more  than  any  other  single  influence,  to  stimulate 
its  energies,  to  shape  its  intellectual  type,  to  determine 


270  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

its  political  ideals  and  canons  of  taste,  to  impart  to  it 
the  qualities  that  distinguish  it  most  widely  from  the 
Eastern  world.  But  how  much  of  this  influence  would 
have  arisen  or  have  survived  if,  as  might  easily  have  hap- 
pened, the  invasion  of  Xerxes  had  succeeded,  and  an 

5  Asiatic  despotism  been  planted  in  Greece  ?     It  is  a  mere 
question   of   strategy  whether   Hannibal,  after   Cannae, 
might  not  have  marched  upon  Rome  and  burned  it  to  the 
ground,  and  had  he  done  so,  the  long  train  of  momentous 
consequences  that  flowed  from  the  Roman  Empire  would 
never  have  taken  place,  and  a  nation  widely  different  in 
its  position,  its  character,  and  its  pursuits,  would  have 

6  presided  over  the  developments  of  civilization.     It  is,  no 
doubt,  true  that  the  degradation  or  disintegration  of  Ori- 
ental Christianity  assisted  the  triumph  of  Mohammedan- 
ism ;  but  if  Mohammed  had  been  killed  in  one  of  the  first 
skirmishes  of  his  career,  there  is  no  reason  to  believe 
that  a  great  monotheistic  and  military  religion  would  have 
been  organized  in  Arabia,  destined  to  sweep  with  resist- 
less fanaticism  over  an  immense  part  both  of  the  Pagan 
and  of  the  Christian  world,  and  to  establish  itself  for 
many  centuries  and  in  three  continents  as  a  serious  rival 

7  to   Christianity.     As    Gibbon    truly  says,   had   Charles 
Martel  been  defeated  at  the  battle  of  Poitiers,  Mohamme- 
danism would  have  almost  certainly  overspread  the  whole 
of  Gallic  and  Teutonic  Europe,  and  the  victory  of  the 
Christians  was  only  gained  after  several  days  of  doubtful 
and  indecisive  struggle.     The  obscure  blunder  of  some 
forgotten  captain,  who  perhaps  moved  his  troops  to  the 
right  when  he  should  have  moved  them  to  the  left,  may 
have  turned  the  scale,  and  determined  the  future  of  Eu- 

8  rope.     Even  the  changes  of  the  French  Revolution,  pre- 
pared as  they  undoubtedly  were  by  a  long  train  of  irre- 
sistible causes,  might  have  worn  a  wholly  different  com- 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  271 

plexion  had  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  succeeded  Lewis  XIY, 
and  directed,  with  the  intelligence  and  the  liberality 
that  were  generally  expected  from  the  pupil  of  Fenelon, 
the  government  of  his  country.  Profound  and  searching 
changes  in  the  institutions  of  France  were  inevitable,  but 
had  they  been  effected  peacefully,  legally,  and  gradually, 
had  the  shameless  scenes  of  the  Regency  and  of  Lewis 
XY  been  avoided,  that  frenzy  of  democratic  enthusiasm 
which  has  been  the  most  distinctive  product  of  the  Revo- 
lution, and  which  has  passed,  almost  like  a  new  religion, 
into  European  life,  might  never  have  arisen,  and  the 
whole  Napoleonic  episode,  with  its  innumerable  conse- 
quences, would  never  have  occurred. 


WILLIAM    PITT  (EARL  OF  CHATHAM).— DESCRIPTION 
OF   HIS  ORATORY. 

LECKT'S  "ENGLAND  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY." 

This  elaborate  description  of  the  genius  and  eloquence  of  Wil- 
liam Pitt,  Earl  of  Chatham,  represents  Mr.  Lecky's  style  at  its  best. 
Pitt  was  the  greatest  statesman  that  England  produced  during 
the  eighteenth  century,  and  one  of  the  greatest  of  all  time.  A  mind 
comprehensive,  bold,  vigorous  in  execution,  and  vast  in  resources, 
an  eloquence  fascinating  and  irresistible,  rendered  him,  during  much 
of  his  career,  the  idol  ot  the  English  people.  No  man  contributed 
so  much  to  place  upon  an  enduring  basis  the  power  of  England  in 
America.  To  him,  more  than  to  any  other,  is  to  be  attributed  the 
fact  that  America  became  an  English  instead  of  a  French  country. 
The  brilliant  campaign  which  led  to  the  capture  of  Quebec  by 
Wolfe  (1759)  was  planned  by  the  genius  of  Pitt.  By  the  treaty  of 
Paris  (1763),  England  acquired  control  of  the  territory  out  of  which 
the  United  States  was  principally  formed.  In  Pitt's  time,  news- 
paper reporting  had  not  grown  to  be  an  art,  nor  was  the  right  of 


272  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

reporting  entirely  conceded,  so  that  many  of  the  greatest  efforts  of 
parliamentary  eloquence  have  descended  to  us  in  an  imperfect,  frag- 
mentary state.  What  great  statesman  was  the  son  of  the  Earl  of 
Chatham  ?  What  American  city  preserves  the  name  of  Pitt  ?  Why 
did  it  receive  the  name?  What  was  Chatham's  policy  toward  the 
American  colonies  during  the  American  Revolution  ? 

1  WE  may  here,  then,  conveniently  pause  to  examine  in 
some  detail  the  character  and  policy  of  this  most  remark- 
able man,  who,  in  spite  of  many  and  glaring  defects,  was 
undoubtedly  one  of  the  noblest,  as  he  was  one  of  the 
greatest,  who  have  ever  appeared   in   English    politics. 
There  have,  perhaps,  been  English  statesmen  who  have 
produced  on  the  whole  greater  and  more  enduring  bene- 
fits to  their  country  than  the  elder  Pitt,  and  there  have 
certainly  been  some  whose  careers  have  exhibited  fewer 
errors  and  fewer  defects ;  but  there  has  been  no  other 
statesman  whose  fame  has  been  so  dazzling  and  so  uni- 
versal, or  concerning  whose  genius  and  character  there 

2  has  been  so  little  dispute.     As  an  orator,  if  the  best  test 
of  eloquence  be  the  influence  it  exercises  on  weighty  mat- 
ters upon  a  highly  cultivated  assembly,  he  must  rank  with 
the  very  greatest  who  have  ever  lived.     His  speeches  ap- 
pear, indeed,  to  have  exhibited  no  pathos,  and  not  much 
wit ;  he  was  not,  like  his  son,  skillful  in  elaborate  state- 
ments; nor  like  Fox,  an  exhaustive  debater;  nor  like 
Burke,  a  profound  philosopher ;  nor  like  Canning,  a  great 
master  of  sparkling  fancy  and  of  playful  sarcasm ;  but  he 
far  surpassed  them  aE  in  the  blasting  fury  of  his  invec- 
tive, in  the  force,  fire,  and  majesty  of  a  declamation 
which  thrilled  and  awed  the  most  fastidious  audience,  in 
the  burning  and  piercing  power  with  which  he  could  im- 

3  print  his  views  upon  the  minds  of  his  hearers.     Like 
most  men  of  real  and  original  genius,  but  unlike  the 
great  majority  even  of  very  eminent  speakers,  his  elo- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  273 

quence  did  not  consist  solely  or  mainly  in  the  skillful 
structure  and  the  rhetorical  collocation  of  his  sentences. 
It  abounded  in  nbble  thoughts  nobly  expressed,  in  almost 
rhythmical  phrases  of  imaginative  beauty  which  clung 
like  poetry  to  the  memory,  in  picturesque  images  and 
vivid  epithets  which  illumined  with  a  sudden  gleam  the 
subjects  he  treated.     He  lived  at  a  time  when  there  were  4 
no  regular  parliamentary  reporters ;  he  never  appears  to 
have  himself  corrected  a  speech ;  the  remains  we  possess 
are  but  disjointed  fragments  or  palpably  inaccurate  recol- 
lections, and  nearly  a  hundred  years  have  elapsed  since 
his  death ;  but  yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  disadvantages, 
there  are  few  English  orators  who  have  left  so  many  pas- 
sages or  sentences  or  turns  of  phraseology  which  are  still 
remembered.     His  comparison  of  the  coalition  of  Fox  5 
and  Newcastle  to  the  junction  of  the  Khone  and  of  the 
Saone,  his  denunciation  of  the  employment  of  Indians  in 
warfare,  his  defense  of  the  Dissenters  against  the  charge 
of  secret  ambition,  his  appeal  to  the  historical  memories 
recorded  on  the  tapestry  of  the  House  of  Lords,  his  con- 
trast between  the  iron  barons  of  the  past  and  the  silken 
barons   of   the   present,  his    eulogy   of   Magna   Charta, 
his  expansion  of  the  trite  maxim  that  every  Englishman's 
house  is  his  castle,  his  descriptions  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land as  "  a  Calvinistic  creed,  a  Popish  liturgy,  and  an 
Arminian  clergy,"  and  of  the  press  as  "  like  the  air,  a 
chartered  libertine,"  are  all  familiar,  while  hardly  a  sen- 
tence is  remembered  from  the  oratory  of  his  son,  of  Fox, 
of  Plunket,  or  of  Brougham.     He  possessed  every  per-  6 
sonal  advantage  that  an  orator  could  desire — a  singularly 
graceful  and  imposing  form,  a  voice  of  wonderful  com- 
pass and  melody,  which  he  modulated  with  consummate 
skill ;  an  eye  of  such  piercing  brightness  and  such  com- 
manding power  that  it  gave  an  air  of  inspiration  to  his 


274  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

speaking,  and  added  a  peculiar  terror  to  his  invective. 
The  weight  and  dignity  of  a  great  character  and  a  great 
intellect  appeared  in  all  he  said,  and  a  '  certain  sustained 
loftiness  of  diction  and  of  manner  kept  him  continually 
on  a  higher  level  than  his  audience,  and  imposed  respect 
upon  the  most  petulant  opposition. 

7  In  the  histrionic  part  of  oratory,  in  the  power  of  con- 
veying deep  impressions  by  gesture,  look,  or  tone,  he  ap- 
pears, indeed,  to  have   been  unequaled   among  orators. 
Probably  the  greatest  actor  who  ever  lived  was  his  con- 
temporary, and  the  most  critical  and  at  the  same  time 
hostile  observers  declared  that  in  grace  and  dignity  of 
gesture  Chatham  was  not  inferior  to  Garrick.     But  not- 
withstanding the  exquisitely  finished  acting  displayed  in 
their  delivery,  his  speeches  exhibited  in  the  highest  per- 
fection that  quality  of  spontaneity  which  so  broadly  dis- 
tinguishes the  best  modern  speaking  from  the  prepared 

8  harangues  of  antiquity.     They  were  scarcely  ever  of  the 
nature  of  formal  orations,  and  they  were  little  governed 
by  rule,  symmetry,  or  method.     They  usually  took  the 
tone  of  a  singularly  elevated,  rapid,  and  easy  conversa- 
tion, following  the  course  of  the  debate,  passing  with  un- 
forced transitions,  and  with  the  utmost  variety  of  voice 
and  manner,  through  all  the  modes  of  statement,  argu- 
ment, sarcasm,  and  invective;   abounding  in  ingenious 
illustrations  and  in  unlooked-for  flashes,  digressing  read- 
ily to  answer  objections  or  to  resent  interruption,  and 
rising  in  a  moment  under  the  influence  of  a  strong  pas- 
sion or  of  a  great  theme  into  the  grandest  and  most 

9  majestic  declamation.     In  his  best  days  he  used  to  speak 
for  hours  with  a  power  that  never  flagged,  but  in  his  lat- 
ter years   his   voice   often    sank,   whole   passages   were 
scarcely  audible  to  the  listeners,  and  his  eloquence  shone 
with  a  fitful  and  occasional,  though  still  a  dazzling  splen- 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  275 

dor.  "  He  was  not,"  it  was  said,  "  like  Townshend,  for 
ever  on  the  rack  of  exertion,  but  rather  lightened  upon 
his  subject  and  reached  the  point  by  the  flashings  of  his 
mind,  which,  like  those  of  his  eye,  were  felt  but  could 
not  be  followed."  He  rarely  involved  himself  in  intri- 
cate or  abstract  speculation,  or  in  long  trains  of  reason- 
ing ;  but  no  one  was  a  greater  master  of  those  brief,  keen 
arguments  which  are  most  effective  in  debate.  No  one 
could  expose  a  fallacy  with  a  more  trenchant  and  epi- 
grammatic clearness,  or  could  illuminate  his  case  with  a 
more  intense  vividness.  He  is  said  to  have  cared  less  for 
the  right  of  reply  than  most  great  speakers,  but  two  of 
his  most  powerful  speeches — his  detailed  refutation  of 
Grenville's  argument  in  favor  of  American  taxation  in 
1766,  and  his  answer  in  1777  to  Lord  Suffolk's  apology 
for  the  employment  of  Indians  in  war — were  replies. 

It  was  said  by  an  acute  critic  that  both  his  son  and  10 
Charles  Fox  often  delivered  abler  speeches,  but  that  nei- 
ther of  them  ever  attained  those  moments  of  transcend- 
ent greatness  which  were  frequent  with  the  elder  Pitt, 
and  that  he  alone  of  the  three  had  the  power  not  only  of 
delighting  and  astonishing,  but  also  of  overawing  the 
House.  He  had  a  grandeur  and  a  manner  peculiarly  his 
own,  and  it  was  the  preeminent  characteristic  of  his  elo- 
quence that  it  impressed  every  hearer  with  the  conviction 
that  there  was  something  in  the  speaker  immeasurably 
greater  even  than  his  words.  He  delighted  in  touching  11 
the  moral  chords,  in  appealing  to  strong  passions,  in  ar- 
guing questions  on  high  grounds  of  principle  rather  than 
on  grounds  of  detail.  As  Grattan  said,  "  Great  subjects, 
great  empires,  great  characters,  effulgent  ideas,  and  clas- 
sical illustrations,  formed  the  material  of  his  speeches." 
His  imagination  was  so  vivid  that  he  was  accustomed  to 
Bay  that  most  things  returned  to  him  with  greater  force 
19 


276  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

the  second  time  than  the  first.  His  diction,  though  often 
rising  to  an  admirable  poetic  beauty,  was  in  general  re- 
markably simple,  and  his  speeches  were  so  little  prepared 
and  so  little  restrained  that  he  feared  to  speak  when  he 
had  any  important  secret  relating  to  the  subject  of  debate 
on  his  mind.  As  he  himself  said,  "  When  my  mind  is 
full  of  a  subject,  if  once  I  get  on  my  legs,  it  is  sure  to  run 
over."  In  the  words  of  Walpole,  "  Though  no  man  knew 
so  well  how  to  say  what  he  pleased,  no  man  ever  knew  so 

12  little  what  he  was  going  to  say."     But  yet,  as  is  often  the 
case,  this  facility  of  spontaneous  and  sudden  eloquence 
was  only  acquired  by  long  labor,  and  it  was  probably  com- 
patible with  a  careful  preparation  of  particular  passages 
in  his  speeches.     Wilkes  described  him  as  having  given 
all  his  mind  "  to  the  studying  of  words  and  rounding  of 
sentences."     He  had  perused  Barrow's  sermons  as  a  mod- 
el of  style  with  such  assiduity  that  he  could  repeat  some 
of  them  by  heart.     He  told  a  friend  that  he  had  read 
over  Bailey's  "  English  Dictionary "  twice  from  begin- 
ning to  end.     He  was  one  of  the  first  to  detect  the  great 
merit  of  the  style  of  Junius  as  a  model  for  oratory,  and 
he  recommended  some  early  letters  which  that  writer  had 
published  under  the  signature  of  "  Domitian  "  to  the  c 
ful  study  of  his  son.     One  who  knew  him  well  described 
him  as  so  fastidious  that  he  disliked  even  to  look  upon  a 
bad  print,  lest  it  should  impair  the  delicacy  of  his  taste. 

13  Yet,  in  truth,  that  taste  was  far  from  pure,  and  there 
was  much  in  his  speeches  that  was  florid  and  meretricious, 
and  not  a  little  that  would  have  appeared  absurd  bombast 
but  for  the  amazing  power  of  his  delivery,  and  the  almost 
magnetic  fascination  of  his  presence.     The  anecdotes  pre- 
served of  the  ascendency  he  acquired,  and  of  the  terror 
he  inspired  in  the  great  councils  of  the  realm,  are  so  won- 
derful, and,  indeed,  so  unparalleled,  that  they  would  be 


HISTORICAL  READINGS  277 

incredible  were  they  not  most  abundantly  attested.  "  The 
terrible.,"  said  Charles  Butler,  "  was  his  peculiar  power ; 
then  the  whole  House  sank  before  him."  "  His  word's," 
said  Lord  Lyttelton,  "  have  sometimes  frozen  my  young 
blood  into  stagnation,  and  sometimes  made  it  pace  in  such 
a  hurry  through  my  veins  that  I  could  scarce  support  it." 
"  No  malefactor  under  the  stripes  of  an  executioner,"  said  14 
Glover,  "  was  ever  more  forlorn  and  helpless  than  Fox 
appeared  under  the  lash  of  Pitt's  eloquence,  shrewd  and 
able  in  parliament  as  Fox  confessedly  is."  Fox  himself, 
in  one  of  his  letters,  describes  a  debate  on  a  contested 
election,  in  which  the  member,  who  was  accused  of  bri- 
bery, carried  with  him  all  the  sympathies  of  the  House, 
and  kept  it  in  a  continual  roar  of  laughter  by  a  speech 
full  of  wit,  humor,  and  buifoonery.  "Mr.  Pitt  came 
down  from  the  gallery  and  took  it  up  in  his  highest  tone 
of  dignity.  He  was  astonished  when  he  heard  what  had 
been  the  occasion  of  their  mirth.  Was  the  dignity  of  the 
House  of  Commons  on  such  sure  foundations  that  they 
might  venture  themselves  to  shake  it  ?  Had  it  not,  on 
the  contrary,  been  diminishing  for  years,  till  now  we 
are  brought  to  the  very  brink  of  a  precipice,  when,  if 
ever,  a  stand  must  be  made.  Then  followed  high  com- 15 
pliments  to  the  Speaker,  eloquent  exhortations  to  Whigs 
of  all  conditions  to  defend  their  attacked  and  declining 
liberty,  *  unless  you  will  degenerate  into  a  little  assem- 
bly, serving  no  other  purpose  than  to  register  the  ar- 
bitrary edicts  of  one  too  powerful  a  subject.'  Dis- 
pleased as  well  as  pleased,  allow  it  to  be  the  finest 
speech  that  was  ever  made ;  and  it  was  observed  that  by 
his  first  two  periods  he  brought  the  House  to  a  silence 
and  attention  that  you  might  have  heard  a  pin  drop." 
On  two  occasions  a  member  who  attempted  to  answer 
him  was  so  disconcerted  by  his  glance,  or  by  a  few  fierce 


278  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

words  which  he  uttered,  that  he  sat  down  confused  and 
paralyzed  with  fear.  Charles  Butler  asked  a  member 
who  was  present  on  one  of  these  occasions,  "  if  the  House 
did  not  laugh  at  the  ridiculous  figure  of  the  poor  mem- 
16 her?"  "No,  sir,"  he  replied,  "we  were  all  too  much 
awed  to  laugh."  No  speaker  ever  took  greater  liberties 
with  his  audience.  Thus,  when  George  Grenville  in  one 
of  his  speeches  was  urging  in  defense  of  a  tax  the  diffi- 
culty of  discovering  a  substitute :  "  Tell  me  where  it 
should  be  placed ;  I  say,  tell  me  where '( "  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  Pitt  humming  aloud  the  refrain  of  a  popular 
song,  "  Tell  me,  gentle  shepherd,  where  ? "  "  If,  gentle- 
men," began  Grenville,  when  Pitt  rose,  bowed,  and 
walked  contemptuously  out  of  the  House.  "  Sugar,  Mr. 
Speaker,"  he  once  began,  when  a  laugh  arose.  "  Sugar," 
he  repeated  three  times,  turning  fiercely  round,  "who 
will  now  dare  to  laugh  at  sugar  ? "  and  the  members,  like 

17  timid  school-boys,  sank  into  silence.    "  On  one  occasion," 
wrote  Grattan — who,  when  a  young  man,  carefully  fol- 
lowed his  speeches — "  on  addressing  Lord  Mansfield,  he 
said,  'Who  are  the  evil  advisers  of  his  Majesty?  is  it 
you?  is  it  you?   is  it  you?'  (pointing  to  the  ministers 
until  he  came  near  Lord  Mansfield).     There  were  several 
lords  round  him,  and  Lord  Chatham  said,  'My  lords, 
please  to  take  your  seats.'     When  they  sat  down,  he 
pointed  to  Lord  Mansfield  and  said,  '  Is  it  you  ?     Me- 
thinks    Felix    trembles.'"      Grattan    adds,  with   much 

18  truth :  "  It  required  a  great  actor  to  do  this.     Done  by 
any  one  else  it  would  have  been  miserable.     It  was  said 
he  was  too  much  of  a  mountebank,  but  if  so  it  was  a 
great  mountebank.     Perhaps  he  was  not  so  good  a  de- 
bater as  his  son,  but  he  was  a  much  better  orator,  a 
greater  scholar,  and  a  far  greater  man."     It  is  manifest 
that,  while  his  eloquence  would  have  placed  him  first,  or 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  279 

among  the  first  of  orators,  in  any  age  or  in  any  country, 
his  usual  style  of  speaking  was  only  adapted  to  a  period 
when  regular  reporters  were  unknown.  Parliamentary 
reporting  has  immeasurably  extended  the  influence  of 
parliamentary  speaking,  it  has  done  much  to  moderate  its 
tone,  and  to  purify  it  from  extravagance  and  bombast, 
but  it  is  extremely  injurious  to  its  oratorical  character. 
The  histrionic  part  of  eloquence  has  almost  lost  its  power. 
A  great  speaker  knows  that  it  is  necessary  to  emasculate  19 
his  statements  by  cautions,  limitations,  and  qualifications 
wholly  unnecessary  for  the  audience  he  addresses,  but 
very  essential  if  his  words  are  to  be  perpetuated,  and  to  be 
canvassed  by  the  great  public  beyond  the  walls.  He 
knows  that  language,  which  would  exercise  a  thrilling 
effect  upon  a  heated  assembly  in  the  fierce  excitement 
of  a  midnight  debate,  would  appear  insufferably  turgid 
and  exaggerated  if  submitted  the  next  day  to  the  cold 
criticism  of  unimpassioned  readers,  and  the  mere  fact, 
that  while  addressing  one  audience  he  is  thinking  of  an- 
other, gives  an  air  of  unreality  to  his  speaking.  In  the 
time  of  Pitt,  however,  reporting  was  irregular,  fitful,  and 
inaccurate.  The  real  aim  of  the  great  orator  was  to  move 
the  audience  before  him ;  but  a  vagne  report  of  the  im- 
mense power  of  his  speeches  was  communicated  to  the 
country ;  and  detached  passages  or  phrases,  eminently 
fitted  to  stir  the  passions  of  the  people,  were  circulated 
abroad.  If  we  pass  from  the  oratory  of  Pitt  to  his  charac-  20 
ter,  we  must  speak  with  much  more  qualification.  His 
faults  were  indeed  many  and  very  grave,  but  they  were 
redeemed  by  some  splendid  qualities  which  dazzled  his 
contemporaries,  and  have  perhaps  exercised  a  somewhat 
disproportionate  influence  upon  the  judgments  of  poster- 
ity. He  was  entirely  free  from  all  taint  or  suspicion  of 
corruption.  Entering  public  life  at  a  time  when  the 


280  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

standard  of  political  honor  was  extremely  low,  having,  it 
is  said,  at  first  a  private  fortune  of  not  more  than  one 
hundred  pounds  a  year,  and  being  at  the  same  time  al- 
most destitute  of  parliamentary  connection,  conscious  of 
the  possession  of  great  administrative  powers,  and  in^ 
tensely  desirous  of  office,  he  exhibited  in  all  matters  con- 
nected with  money  the  most  transparent  and  fastidious 
purity.  He  once  spoke  of  "  that  sense  of  honor  which 
makes  ambition  virtue,"  and  he  illustrated  it  admirably 
himself.  He  was  entirely  inaccessible  to  corrupt  offers, 
and,  unlike  the  great  majority  of  his  contemporaries,  not 
content  with  declaiming  when  in  opposition,  he  attested 
in  the  most  emphatic  manner  his  sincerity  when  in  power. 

21  On  his  appointment  as  Paymaster  of  the  Forces,  in  17-16, 
he  at  once  and  for  ever  established  his  character  by  two 
striking  instances  of  magnanimity.    His  predecessors  had 
long  been  accustomed  to  invest  in  government  securities 
the  large  floating  balance  which  was  left  in  their  hands 
for  the  payment  of  the  troops  and  to  appropriate  the  in- 
terest, and  also  to  receive  as  a  perquisite  of  office  one 
half  per  cent,  of  all  subsidies  voted  by  parliament  to  for- 
eign princes.     These  two  sources  of  emolument,  being 
united  to  the  regular  salary  of  the   office,  made   it   in 
time  of  war  extremely  lucrative ;  and  though  they  hud 
never  been  legalized  they  were  universally  recognized, 
and  had  been  received  without  question  and  without  op- 
position by  a  long  line  of  distinguished  statesmen.     Pitt, 
who  was  probably  the  poorest  man  who  had  ever  filled 
the  office,  refused  them  as  illegal,  and  when  the  King  of 
Sardinia  pressed  upon  him  as  a  free  gift  a  sum  equivalent 
to  the  usual  deduction  from  his  subsidy,  he  at  once  de- 
clined to  accept  it. 

22  Such  a  course  speedily  made  him  the  idol  of  the  na- 
tion, which  had  long  chafed  bitterly  under  the  corruption 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  281 

of  its  representatives.  Pitt  had,  indeed,  every  quality 
that  was  required  for  a  great  popular  leader.  His  splen- 
did eloquence,  his  disinterestedness,  his  position  outside 
the  charmed  circle  of  aristocratic  connections,  the  popular 
cast  and  tendency  of  his  politics,  tilled  the  people  with 
admiration,  and  their  enthusiasm  was  by  no  means  dimin- 
ished by  the  pride  with  which,  relying  on  their  favor,  he 
encountered  every  aristocratic  cabal,  or  by  the  insatiable 
ambition  which  was  the  most  conspicuous  element  of  his 
character.  His  pride  was  indeed  of  that  kind  which  is 
the  guardian  of  many  virtues,  and  his  ambition  was 
indissolubly  linked  with  the  greatness  of  his  country. 
Beyond  all  other  statesmen  of  the  eighteenth  century  he 
understood  and  sympathized  with  the  feelings  of  the  Eng- 
lish people,  and  recognized  the  great  unrepresented  forces 
of  the  nation,  and  amid  all  the  variations  of  his  career  his 
love  of  freedom  never  faltered,  and  a  burning,  passionate 
patriotism  remained  the  guiding  principle  of  his  life. 


INTELLECTUAL  AND  LITERARY  CHARACTERISTICS  OF 
ENGLAND  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 


The  study  of  the  intellectual,  and  especially  the  literary,  charac- 
teristics of  the  eighteenth  century  has  received  a  new  impulse  of 
late  years.  The  Introduction  to  Matthew  Arnold's  edition  of  John- 
son's "  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  is  valuable  as  an  exposition  of  its  liter- 
ary side.  Morley's  "  English  Writers  "  and  Morley's  "  First  Sketch 
of  English  Literature  "  are  full  of  information.  We  have  already 
spoken  of  the  age  of  Queen  Anne  and  its  literary  characteristics^— 
the  culture  of  style,  and  the  systematic  endeavor  to  lay  down  can- 


282  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ons  of  criticism.  It  is  hoped  that  the  student  will  read  the  "Spec- 
tator" and  the  "Tatler."  They  are  valuable  both  as  historical  and 
literary  studies. 

1  I  SHALL  conclude  this  volume  with  a  brief  sketch  of 
the  leading  intellectual  and  social  changes  of  the  period 
we  have  been  examining  which  have  not  fallen  within  the 
scope  of  the  preceding  narrative.     In  the  higher  forms  of 
intellect,  if  we  omit  the  best  works  of  Pope  and  Swift, 
who  belong  chiefly  to  the  reign  of  Anne,  the  reigns  of 
George  I  and  George  II  were,  on  the  whole,  not  prolific,  but 
the  influence  of  the  press  was  great  and  growing,  though 
periodical  writing  was  far  less  brilliant  than  in  the  preced- 
ing period.    Among  other  writers,  Fielding,  Lyttelton,  and 
Chesterfield  occasionally  contributed  to  it.     The  "  Crafts- 
man "  especially,  though  now  utterly  neglected,  is  said  to 
have  once  attained  a  circulation  of  ten  thousand,  was  be- 
lieved to  have  eclipsed  the  "  Spectator,"  and  undoubtedly 

2  contributed  largely  to  the  downfall  of  Walpole.    Though 
set  up  by  Bolingbroke  and  Pulteney,  it  was  edited  by  an 
obscure  and  disreputable  writer  named  Amhurst,  who 
devoted  nearly  twenty  years  to  the  service  of  the  faction, 
but  who  was  utterly  neglected  by  them  in  the  compro- 
mise of  1742.     He  died  of  a  broken  heart,  and  owed  his 
grave  to  the  charity  of  a  bookseller.     We  have  already 
seen  the  large  sum  which  Walpole,  though  in  general 
wholly  indifferent  to  literary  merit,  bestowed  upon  the 
government  press,  and  its  writers  were  also  occasionally 
rewarded  by  government  patronage.      Thus  Trenchard, 
the  author  of  "  Cato's  Letters,"  obtained  the  post  of  "  com- 
missioner of  wine-licenses  "  from  Walpole ;  and  Concan- 
non,  another  ministerial  writer,  was  made  Attorney-Gen- 
eral of  Jamaica  by  Newcastle.     In  172-i  there  were  three 
daily  and  five  weekly  papers  printed  in  London,  as  well 
as  ten  which  appeared  three  times  a  week.     The  number 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  283 

steadily  increased,  and  a  provincial  press  gradually  grew 
up.  The  first  trace  of  newspapers  outside  London  is  in  3 
the  time  of  the  Commonwealth,  when  the  contending 
armies  carried  with  them  printing  presses  for  the  purpose 
of  issuing  reports  of  their  proceedings ;  but  the  first  regu- 
lar provincial  papers  appear  to  have  been  created  in  the 
last  decade  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  by  the  middle 
of  the  eighteenth  century  almost  every  important  provin- 
cial town  had  its  local  organ.  Political  caricatures,  which 
were  probably  Italian  in  their  origin,,  came  into  fashion 
in  England  during  the  South  Sea  panic.  Caricatures  on 
cards,  which  were  for  a  time  exceedingly  popular,  were 
invented  by  George  Townshend,  in  1756.  As  the  cen- 
tury advanced,  the  political  importance  of  the  press  be- 
came very  apparent.  "  Newspapers,"  said  a  writer  in  the 
"  Gentleman's  Magazine  "  of  1731,  "  are  of  late  so  multi- 
plied as  to  render  it  impossible,  unless  a  man  makes  it  his 
business,  to  consult  them  all.  Upon  calculating  the  num-4 
ber  of  newspapers,  it  is  found  that  (besides  divers  written 
accounts)  no  less  than  two  hundred  half-sheets  per  month 
are  thrown  from  the  press,  only  in  London,  and  about  as 
many  printed  elsewhere  in  the  three  kingdoms ;  ...  so 
that  they  are  become  the  chief  channels  of  amusement 
and  intelligence."  "  The  people  of  Great  Britain,"  said 
Mr.  Danvers  in  1738,  "  are  governed  by  a  power  that 
never  was  heard  of  as  a  supreme  authority  in  any  age  or 
country  before.  ...  It  is  the  government  of  the  press. 
The  stuff  which  our  weekly  newspapers  are  filled  with  is 
received  with  greater  reverence  than  Acts  of  Parliament, 
and  the  sentiments  of  one  of  these  scribblers  have  more 
weight  with  the  multitude  than  the  opinion  of  the  best 
politician  in  the  kingdom."  "No  species  of  literary 5 
men,"  wrote  Dr.  Johnson  in  1758,  "  has  lately  been  so 
much  multiplied  as  the  writers  of  news.  Not  many  years 


284  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ago  the  nation  was  content  with  one  Gazette,  but  now  we 
have,  not  only  in  the  metropolis,  papers  of  every  morning 
and  every  evening,  but  almost  every  large  town  has  its 
weekly  historian."  One  of  the  consequences  of  the  com- 
plete subjection  of  literary  men  to  the  booksellers  was  the 
creation  of  magazines,  which  afforded  a  more  certain  and 
rapid  remuneration  than  books,  and  gave  many  writers 
a  scanty  and  precarious  subsistence.  The  "  Gentleman's 
Magazine"  appeared  in  1731.  It  was  speedily  followed 
by  its  rival,  the  "  London  Magazine  " ;  and  in  1750  there 
were  eight  periodicals  of  this  kind.  In  the  middle  of  tlic 
eighteenth  century,  also,  literary  reviews  began  in  Eng- 
land. In  1752  there  were  three — the  "Literary,"  the 
6  "  Critical,"  and  the  "  Monthly."  Under  George  II  an  ad- 
ditional tax  of  one  half -penny  had  been  imposed  on  n< 
papers,  and  an  additional  duty  of  a  shilling  on  advertise- 
ments ;  but  the  demand  for  this  form  of  literature  was  so 
great  that  these  impositions  do  not  appear  to  have  serious- 
ly checked  it.  The  essay  writers  had  made  it  their  gn  at 
object  as  much  as  possible  to  popularize  and  diffuse  knowl- 
edge, and  to  bring  down  every  question  to  a  level  with 
the  capacities  of  the  idlest  reader;  and  without  any  gnat 
change  in  education,  any  display  of  extraordinary  genius, 
or  any  real  enthusiasm  for  knowledge,  the  circle  of  intel- 
ligence was  slowly  enlarged.  The  progress  was  probably 
even  greater  among  women  than  among  men.  Swift,  in 
one  of  his  latest  letters,  noticed  the  great  improvement 
which  had  taken  place  during  his  lifetime  in  the  educ- 
tion and  in  the  writing  of  ladies ;  and  it  is  to  this  period 
that  some  of  the  best  female  correspondence  in  our  litera- 
ture belongs. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  285 

APPEARANCE  AND  CHARACTER  OF   MOHAMMED. 
GIBBON'S  "DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIEE." 

The  career  and  the  character  of  Mohammed  are  among  the 
phenomena  of  history.  So  singular  a  blending  of  enthusiasm  and 
fanaticism  has  rarely  been  exhibited  in  the  character  of  a  single  in- 
dividual. There  are  some  points  of  resemblance,  strange  as  the 
comparison  may  seem,  between  Mohammed  and  Joan  of  Arc.  Mo- 
hammed's conquests  were  wonderfully  rapid,  and  included  an  im- 
mense area.  Large  parts  of  Asia  are  subject  to  the  Mohammedan 
faith,  and  even  in  Europe  the  Turks  still  preserve  their  empire  and 
their  creed. 

ACCORDING  to  the  tradition  of  his  companions,  Mo-1 
hammed  was  distinguished  by  the  beauty  of  his  person — 
an  outward  gift  which  is  seldom  despised,  except  by  those 
to  whom  it  has  been  refused.  Before  he  spoke,  the  ora- 
tor engaged  on  his  side  the  affections  of  a  public  or  pri- 
vate audience.  They  applauded  his  commanding  pres- 
ence, his  majestic  aspect,  his  piercing  eye,  his  gracious 
smile,  his  flowing  beard,  his  countenance  that  painted 
every  sensation  of  the  soul,  and  his  gestures  that  enforced 
each  expression  of  the  tongue.  In  the  familiar  offices  of 
life  he  scrupulously  adhered  to  the  grave  and  ceremonious 
politeness  of  his  country :  his  respectful  attention  to  the 
rich  and  powerful  was  dignified  by  his  condescension  and 
affability  to  the  poorest  citizens  of  Mecca ;  the  frankness 
of  his  manner  concealed  the  artifice  of  his  views,  and  the 
habits  of  courtesy  were  imputed  to  personal  friendship 
or  universal  benevolence.  His  memory  was  capacious  2 
and  retentive,  his  wit  easy  and  social,  his  imagination 
sublime,  his  judgment  clear,  rapid,  and  decisive.  He 
possessed  the  courage  both  of  thought  and  action ;  and, 
although  his  designs  might  gradually  expand  with  his 
success,  the  first  idea  which  he  entertained  of  his  divine 


286  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

mission  bears  the  stamp  of  an  original  and  superior 
genius.  The  son  of  Abdallah  was  educated  in  the  bosom 
of  the  noblest  race,  in  the  use  of  the  purest  dialect  of 
Arabia ;  and  the  fluency  of  his  speech  was  corrected  and 
enhanced  by  the  practice  of  discreet  and  seasonable  si- 
lence. With  these  powers  of  eloquence,  Mohammed  was 
an  illiterate  barbarian;  his  youth  had  never  been  in- 
structed in  the  arts  of  reading  and  writing ;  the  common 
ignorance  exempted  him  from  shame  or  reproach,  but 
he  was  reduced  to  a  narrow  circle  of  existence,  and  de- 
prived of  those  faithful  mirrors  which  reflect  to  our  mind 

3  the  minds  of  sages  and  heroes.  Yet  the  book  of  nature 
and  of  man  was  open  to  his  view,  and  some  fancy  has 
been  indulged  in  the  political  and  philosophical  observa- 
tions which  are  ascribed  to  the  Arabian  traveler.  He 
compares  the  nations  and  religions  of  the  earth ;  discov- 
ers the  weakness  of  the  Persian  and  Roman  monarchies ; 
beholds  with  pity  and  indignation  the  degeneracy  of  the 
times,  and  resolves  to  unite,  under  one  God  and  one  king, 
the  invincible  spirit  and  primitive  virtues  of  the  Arabs. 
Our  more  accurate  inquiry  will  suggest  that,  instead  of 
visiting  the  courts,  the  camps,  the  temples  of  the  East, 
the  two  journeys  of  Mohammed  into  Syria  were  confined 
to  the  fairs  of  Bostra  and  Damascus ;  that  he  was  only 
thirteen  years  of  age  when  he  accompanied  the  caravan 
of  his  uncle,  and  that  his  duty  compelled  him  to  return 
as  soon  as  he  had  disposed  of  the  merchandise  of  Cadi- 

4jah.  In  these  hasty  and  superficial  excursions,  the  eye 
of  genius  might  discern  some  objects  invisible  to  his 
grosser  companions ;  some  seeds  of  knowledge  might  be 
cast  upon  a  fruitful  soil,  but  his  ignorance  of  the  Syriac 
language  must  have  checked  his  curiosity,  and  I  can  not 
perceive  in  the  life  or  writings  of  Mohammed  that  his 
prospect  was  far  extended  beyond  the  limits  of  the  Ara- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  287 

bian  world.  From  every  region  of  that  solitary  world 
the  pilgrims  of  Mecca  were  annually  assembled,  by  the 
calls  of  devotion  and  commerce :  in  the  free  concourse 
of  multitudes,  a  simple  citizen,  in  his  native  tongue, 
might  study  the  political  state  and  character  of  the  tribes, 
the  theory  and  practice  of  the  Jews  and  Christians. 
Some  useful  strangers  might  be  tempted  or  forced  to 
implore  the  rites  of  hospitality ;  and  the  enemies  of  Mo- 
hammed have  named  the  Jew,  the  Persian,  and  the  Syr- 
ian monk,  whom  they  accuse  of  lending  their  secret  aid 
to  the  composition  of  the  Koran.  Conversation  enriches 
the  understanding,  but  solitude  is  the  school  of  genius ; 
and  the  uniformity  of  a  work  denotes  the  hand  of  a 
single  artist.  From  his  earliest  youth  Mohammed  was  5 
addicted  to  religious  contemplation :  each  year,  during 
the  month  of  Eamadan,  he  withdrew  from  the  world 
and  from  the  arms  of  Cadijah ;  in  the  cave  of  Hera,  three 
miles  from  Mecca,  he  consulted  the  spirit  of  fraud  or  en- 
thusiasm, whose  abode  is  not  in  the  heavens  but  in  the 
mind  of  the  prophet.  The  faith  which,  under  the  name 
of  Islam,  he  preached  to  his  family  and  nation,  is  com- 
pounded of  an  eternal  truth  and  a  necessary  fiction — that 
there  is  only  one  God,  and  that  Mohammed  is  the  apostle 
of  God. 


CONQUEST  OF  JERUSALEM    BY  THE   CRUSADERS, 
1099   A.   D. 

GIBBON'S  "DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE." 

The  Crusades  were  undertaken  by  the  nations  of  Europe,  for  the 
purpose  of  getting  possession  of  Jerusalem,  the  sacred  city,  and  af- 
fording Christian  pilgrims  access  to  the  places  consecrated  by  the 
life  and  sufferings  of  our  Lord.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  lives 


288  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

were  lost  in  the  Crusades,  and  although  Jerusalem  was  captured 
from  the  Saracens,  the  followers  of  Mohammed,  it  was  not  perma- 
nently held  by  the  Christians.  The  Crusades,  though  failing  to  ao- 
complish  their  principal  object,  exerted  a  decided  influence  in  rous- 
ing the  European  intellect.  They  brought  Europe  into  contact  with 
the  Eastern  world,  and  produced  an  effect  similar  to  that  produced 
by  foreign  travel  on  the  minds  of  those  who  have  never  been  beyond 
the  range  of  their  own  neighborhood.  The  student  should  consult 
Michaud's  "  History  of  the  Crusades,"  Gibbon's  "  Decline  and  Fall 
of  the  Roman  Empire,"  Guizot's  "  History  of  Civilization." 

1  JERUSALEM  has   derived   some   reputation   from   the 
number  and  importance  of  her  memorable  sieges.     It  was 
not  till  after  a  long  and  obstinate  contest  that  Babylon 
and  Rome  could  prevail  against  the  obstinacy  of  the  peo- 
ple, the  craggy  ground  that  might  supersede  the  necessity 
of  fortifications,  and   the  walls  and   towers  that   would 
have  fortified  the  most  accessible  plain.     These  obstacles 
were  diminished  in  the  age  of  the  crusades.     The  bul- 
warks had  been  completely  destroyed  and  imperfectly  re- 
stored ;  the  Jews,  their  nation  and  worship,  were  for  ever 
banished ;  but  nature  is  less  changeable  than  man,  and  the 
site  of  Jerusalem,  though  somewhat  softened  and  some- 
what removed,  was  still  strong  against  the  assaults  of  an 

2  enemy.     By  the  experience  of  a  recent  siege,  and  a  three 
years'  possession,  the  Saracens  of  Egypt  had  been  taught 
to  discern,  and  in  some  degree  to  remedy,  the  defects  of. 
a  place  which  religion  as  well  as  honor  forbade  them  to 
resign.  Aladin  of  Iftikhar,  the  caliph's  lieutenant,  was  in- 
trusted with  the  defense ;  his  policy  strove  to  restrain  the 
native  Christians  by  the  dread  of  their  own  ruin  and  that 
of  the  holy  sepulcher;  to  animate  the  Moslems  by  the 
assurance  of  temporal  and  eternal  rewards.     His  garrison 
is  said  to  have  consisted  of  forty  thousand  Turks  and 
Arabians ;  and  if  he  could  muster  twenty  thousand  of  the 
inhabitants,  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  besieged  were 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  289 

more  numerous  than  the  besieging  army.  Had  the  di-  3 
minished  strength  and  numbers  of  the  Latins  allowed 
them  to  grasp  the  whole  circumference  of  four  thousand 
yards — about  two  English  miles  and  a  half — to  wrhat  use- 
ful purpose  should  they  have  descended  into  the  valley 
of  Ben  Himmon  and  torrent  of  Cedron,  or  approached 
the  precipices  of  the  south  and  east,  from  whence  they 
had  nothing  either  to  hope  or  fear?  Their  siege  was 
more  reasonably  directed  against  the  northern  and  western 
sides  of  the  city.  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  erected  his  stand- 
ard on  the  first  swell  of  Mount  Calvary ;  to  the  left,  as 
far  as  St.  Stephen's  gate,  the  line  of  attack  was  continued 
by  Tancred  and  the  two  Roberts ;  and  Count  Raymond 
established  his  quarters  from  the  citadel  to  the  foot  of 
Mount  Sion,  which  was  no  longer  included  within  the 
precincts  of  the  city.  On  the  fifth  day,  the  crusaders  4 
made  a  general  assault,  in  the  fanatic  hope  of  battering 
down  the  walls  without  engines,  and  of  scaling  them 
without  ladders.  By  the  dint  of  brutal  force,  they  burst 
the  first  barrier,  but  they  were  driven  back  with  shame 
and  slaughter  to  the  camp ;  the  influence  of  vision  and 
prophecy  was  deadened  by  the  too  frequent  abuse  of 
those  pious  stratagems,  and  time  and  labor  were  found  to 
be  the  only  means  of  victory.  The  time  of  the  siege 
was  indeed  fulfilled  in  forty  days,  but  they  were  forty 
days  of  calamity  and  anguish.  A  repetition  of  the  old  5 
complaint  of  famine  may  be  imputed  in  some  degree 
to  the  voracious  or  disorderly  appetite  of  the  Franks,  but 
the  stony  soil  of  Jerusalem  is  almost  destitute  of  water  ; 
the  scanty  springs  and  hasty  torrents  were  dry  in  the 
summer  season ;  nor  was  the  thirst  of  the  besiegers  re- 
lieved, as  in  the  city,  by  the  artificial  supply  of  cisterns 
and  aqueducts.  The  circumjacent  country  is  equally 
destitute  of  trees  for  the  uses  of  shade  or  building,  but 


290  HISTORICAL  HEADINGS. 

some  large  beams  were  discovered  in  a  cave  by  the  cru- 
saders ;  a  wood  near  Sichem,  the  enchanted  grove  of 
Tasso,  was  cut  down;  the  necessary  timber  was  trans- 
ported to  the  camp  by  the  vigor  and  dexterity  of  Tan- 
cred ;  and  the  engines  were  framed  by  some  Genoese 
artists,  who  had  fortunately  landed  in  the  harbor  of  Jaffa. 

6  Two  movable  turrets  were  constructed  at  the  expense  and 
in  the  stations  of  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  and  the  Count  of 
Toulouse,  and  rolled  forward  with  devout  labor,  not  to 
the  most  accessible,  but  to  the  most  neglected  parts  of 
the  fortification.  Raymond's  tower  was  reduced  to  ashes 
by  the  fire  of  the  besieged,  but  his  colleague  was  more 
vigilant  and  successful ;  the  enemies  were  driven  by  his 
archers  from  the  ramparts ;  the  drawbridge  was  let  down  ; 
and  on  a  Friday,  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  the  day  and 
hour  of  the  Passion,  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  stood  victorious 
on  the  walls  of  Jerusalem.  His  example  was  followed 
on  every  side  by  the  emulation  of  valor ;  and  about  four 
hundred  and  sixty  years  after  the  conquest  of  Omar,  the 

7 holy  city  was  rescued  from  the  Mohammedan  yoke.  In 
the  pillage  of  public  and  private  wealth,  the  adventurers 
had  agreed  to  respect  the  exclusive  property  of  the  first 
occupant ;  and  the  spoils  of  the  great  mosque — seventy 
lamps  and  massy  vases  of  gold  and  silver — rewarded  the 
diligence  and  displayed  the  generosity  of  Tancred.  A 
bloody  sacrifice  was  offered  by  his  mistaken  votaries  to 
the  God  of  the  Christians :  resistance  might  provoke,  but 
neither  age  nor  sex  could  mollify,  their  implacable  rage ; 
they  indulged  themselves  three  days  in  a  promiscuous 
massacre,  and  the  infection  of  the  dead  bodies  produced 
an  epidemical  disease.  After  seventy  thousand  Moslems 
had  been  put  to  the  sword,  and  the  harmless  Jews  had 
been  burned  in  their  synagogue,  they  could  still  reserve  a 
multitude  of  captives  whom  interest  or  lassitude  per- 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  291 

suaded  them  to  spare.  Of  these  savage  heroes  of  the  8 
cross,  Tancred  alone  betrayed  some  sentiments  of  com- 
passion ;  yet  we  may  praise  the  more  selfish  lenity  of 
Raymond,  who  granted  a  capitulation  and  safe-conduct  to 
the  garrison  of  the  citadel.  The  holy  sepulcher  was  now 
free ;  and  the  bloody  victors  prepared  to  accomplish  their 
vow.  Bareheaded  and  barefoot,  with  contrite  hearts,  and 
in  a  humble  posture,  they  ascended  the  hill  of  Calvary, 
amidst  the  loud  anthems  of  the  clergy ;  kissed  the  stone 
which  had  covered  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  and  bedewed 
with  tears  of  joy  and  penitence  the  monument  of  their 
redemption. 


OLIVER   CROMWELL— HIS    LAST   DAYS.— ESTIMATE 
OF    HIS   CHARACTER. 

VON   RANKE'S  "HISTORY  OF   ENGLAND."    PRINCIPALLY  IN  THE 
SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY. 

"We  have  elsewhere  commented  upon  the  difficulty  of  estimating 
the  character  of  Oliver  Cromwell  properly.  This  description  of 
Von  Ranke's  is  marked  by  fine  discrimination,  and  clearness  of 
judgment  in  apprehending  and  exhibiting  the  salient  points  in  the 
character  of  this  remarkable  man.  Von  Ranke  commends  himself 
to  every  earnest  student  of  history  by  his  wonderful  grasp  of  the 
subject,  his  caution,  his  original  research,  and  the  amazing  labor  be- 
stowed upon  his  work.  The  variety  of  his  historical  compositions 
is  astonishing,  and  though  now  past  eighty,  he  still  labors  with  un- 
abated energy  and  diligence. 

NOTHING  is  more  misleading  than  to  search  for  thel 
psychological  causes  connected  with  the  death  of  great 
men,  and  to  attribute  to  them  a  decisive  influence.     One 
of  Cromwell's  confidential  attendants  ventures  to  assert 
that  the  attempt  to  carry  on  an  unparliamentary  govern- 

20 


292  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ment  had  exhausted  his  vital  powers.  And  certain  it  is 
that  the  failure  of  his  plans  soured  and  disturbed  him. 
In  his  own  family  circle,  from  which  he  used  never  to  be 
absent  at  breakfast  and  dinner,  for  he  was  an  excellent 
father,  he  was  latterly  never  seen  for  weeks  together. 
The  discovery  of  constantly  renewed  attempts  upon  his 
life  filled  him  with  disquiet.  It  is  said  that  he  took 
opium,  which  could  not  fail  to  increase  his  agitation.  To 
this  was  added  the  illness  and  death  of  his  favorite 
daughter,  Lady  Claypole,  whose  last  ravings  were  of  the 
religious  and  political  controversies  which  harassed  her 
father — the  right  of  the  king,  the  blood  that  had  been 
shed,  the  revenge  to  come.  The  Independent  ministers 

2  again  found  access  to  him.     When  his  growing  indisposi- 
tion was  succeeded  by  fever,  and  assumed  a  dangerous 
character,  they  still  assured  him  that  he  would  yet  live, 
for  God  hail  need  of  him.     Meantime  he  grew  worse  and 
worse.     We  all  know  how  the  mental  feelings  and  the 
bodily  organs  react  upon  each  other.     Cromwell  suffered 
from  excessive  fullness  of  the  vessels  of  the  brain  and  an 
internal  corruption  of  the  bile.    They  attempted  to  check 
the  disease  by  a  panacea,  which  gave  him  some  relief,  and 
brought  him  back  from  Hampton  Court  to  Westminster, 
to  the  palace  of  the  old  kings  at  Whitehall.     There  he 
died  immediately,  on  the  3d  of  September,  the  anniver- 
sary of  his  victories  of  Dunbar  and  Worcester,  which  had 

3  gained  him  this  lodging.     The  people  declared  that  he 
was  snatched  away  amid  the  tumult  of  a  fearful  storm,  a 
proof  that  he  was  in  league  with  Satanic  powers.    Others 
saw  in  it  the  sympathy  of  nature  with  the  death  of  the 
first  man  in  the  world.    But  gales  and  storms  follow  their 
own  laws — in  reality,  the  storm  had  raged  the  night  be- 
fore.    It  was  not  till  the  afternoon  that  Cromwell  died. 
But  this  belief  was  not  confined  to  the  common  people. 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  293 

The  next  generation  execrated  Cromwell  as  a  monster  of 
wickedness,  while  posterity  has  pronounced  him  one  of 
the  greatest  of  the  human  race. 

To  him  was  granted  the  marvelous  distinction  of  4 
breaking  through  the  charmed  circle  which  among  the 
European  nations  hems  in  the  private  man.  Invested 
with  sovereign  authority,  and  needing  no  higher  sanction 
— for  he  was  not  compelled,  like  Richelieu,  to  convince 
his  king  by  argument,  or  to  pry  into  cabinet  intrigues — 
he  forced  his  way  into  the  history  of  the  world.  The 
king  who  reckoned  a  hundred  ancestors  iu  Scotland,  and 
held  the  throne  of  England  by  that  hereditary  right,  on 
which  most  other  states  rested,  was  overthrown  mainly 
by  the  armed  force  which  he  created,  and  was  then  suc- 
ceeded by  him. 

Yet  Cromwell  had  the  self-restraint  to  refuse  the 
crown  itself ;  that  which  he  was,  the  general  of  the  vic- 
torious army,  invested  with  the  highest  civil  authority, 
that  he  resolved  to  remain. 

For  when  once  Parliament  had  stripped  the  monarchy  5 
of  the  military  authority,  the  army  displayed  a  tenden- 
cy to  submit  no  longer  even  to  Parliament.  The  civil 
authority  became  dependent  upon  the  military.  Crom- 
well took  it  in  hand  and  resolved  to  uphold  it  against  all 
opposition.  Above  all,  he  was  forced  to  suppress  those 
institutions  which  were  most  nearly  allied  with  the  old 
order  of  things.  The  aristocracy  or  the  episcopacy  could 
not  be  suffered  to  exist  any  more  than  the  monarchy  itself. 
Political  and  religious  opposition  to  all  these  elements 
were  for  Cromwell  the  end  of  his  existence.  In  this  he  6 
discerned  the  welfare  of  the  country,  the  advancement 
of  religion  and  morality,  but  also  his  own  justifica- 
tion, if  in  promoting  his  own  cause  he  went  so  far  as 
to  resist  those  opponents  who  sprang  from  the  very 


294  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

heart  of  his  party.  He  deemed  it  essential  to  bring  all 
the  active  forces  in  the  country  into  obedience  to  his  will. 
Thus  it  was  that  he  established  a  power  which  has  no 
parallel  and  no  appropriate  name.  It  is  true  that  the 
noble  sentiments  which  flowed  from  his  lips  were  also 
the  levers  of  his  power,  and  he  did  not  allow  them  to 
interfere  with  it;  but  no  less  true  is  it  that  the  su- 
preme authority  in  itself  was  not  his  aim.  It  was  to 
aid  him  in  realizing  those  ideas  of  religious  liberty,  and 
of  civil  order  and  national  independence,  which  filled 
his  whole  soul.  These  ideas  he  regarded  not  as  merely 
satisfactory  to  himself,  but  as  actually  and  objectively 

7  necessary.     Cromwell's  was  in  fact  a  nature  of  deep  im- 
pulses, restless  originality,  and  wide  comprehensiveness, 
at  once  slow  and  impatient,  trustworthy  and   faithless, 
destructive  and  conservative,  ever  pressing  on  to  the  un- 
trodden way  in  front ;  before  it  all  obstacles  must  give 
way  or  be  crushed. 

If  we  ask  what  of  Cromwell's  work  survived  him,  we 
shall  not  find  the  answer  in  particular  institutions  of  the 
state  and  the  constitution.  "We  are  never  certain  whether 
he  contemplated  the  continuance  of  the  power  which  he 
possessed  himself :  neither  his  House  of  Lords  nor  his 
Commons  was  destined  to  endure ;  nor  yet  the  army  of 
which  he  was  the  founder,  nor  the  separatist  movements 
with  which  he  started.  Time  has  swept  all  this  away. 
Yet  he  exercised,  nevertheless,  an  influence  rich  in  im- 
portant results. 

8  We  have  seen  how  the  germs  of  the  great  struggle 
are  to  be  found  in  the  historical  and  natural  conditions  of 
the  three  countries  of  Britain,  and  we  have  traced  the 
part  played  by  the  republican   system  in  subjecting  to 
England  the  two  other  members  of  the  British  common- 
wealth.    But  it  was  Cromwell's  victories  which  made  this 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  295 

possible.  His  rise  was  associated  from  the  first  with  a 
genuinely  English  theory,  opposed  equally  to  the  en- 
croachments of  the  Scots  and  to  Irish  independence.  He 
won  a  place  for  it  by  force  of  arms,  and  then  first,  irreg- 
ularly enough  it  is  true,  admitted  the  Irish  and  Scottish 
representatives  into  the  English  Parliament.  We  can  9 
scarcely  believe  that  a  parliamentary  government  of  the 
three  kingdoms  was  possible  at  the  time.  The  course  of 
events  tended  rather  toward  a  military  monarchy.  It  is 
Cromwell's  chief  merit  to  have  ruled  the  British  king- 
doms for  a  succession  of  years  on  a  uniform  principle, 
and  to  have  united  their  forces  in  common  eiforts.  It  is 
true  that  this  was  not  the  final  award  of  history  :  things 
were  yet  to  arrange  themselves  in  a  very  different  fashion. 
But  it  was  necessary  perhaps  that  the  main  outlines 
should  be  shaped  by  the  absolute  authority  of  a  single 
will,  in  order  that  in  the  future  a  free  life  might  develop 
within  them. 

But  for  the  general  history  of  Europe  nothing  is  of  10 
more  importance  than  the  fact  that  Cromwell  directed 
the  energies  of  England  against  the  Spanish  monarchy. 
It  was  the  idea  which  was  most  peculiarly  his  own ;  the 
Commonwealth  would  hardly  have  done  it.  We  are  not 
considering  the  political  value  of  this  policy,  against 
which  there  is  much  to  be  said ;  it  is  only  with  its  results 
that  we  are  concerned.  These  consisted  in  the  fact  that 
the  European  system  which  had  grown  up  out  of  the 
dynastic  influence  of  the  Burgundo- Austrian  house,  and 
had  since  been  dominant  for  nearly  two  centuries,  was 
driven  out  of  the  field  and  forced  to  open  a  new  path  for 
itself.  To  the  English  people  itself,  and  especially  to 
their  navy,  an  important  part  was  thus  at  once  allotted. 
Cromwell  did  not  create  the  English  navy.  On  the  con- 11 
trary,  the  views  of  its  chiefs  were  hostile  to  him ;  but  he 


296  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

gave  it  its  strongest  impulse.  We  have  seen  how  vigor- 
ously it  rose  to  power  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  The 
coasts  of  Europe  toward  the  Atlantic  and  Mediterranean 
especially  felt  the  weight  of  the  English  arms.  The  idea 
was  more  than  once  suggested  of  effecting  settlements  on 
the  Italian  and  even  on  the  German  coasts.  Such  a  set- 
tlement was  actually  gained  in  the  Netherlands,  and  was 
to  be  gradually  enlarged.  It  was  said  that  Cromwell  car- 
ried the  key  of  the  continent  at  his  girdle.  Holland  was 
compelled,  however  reluctantly,  to  follow  the  impulse 

.  given  her  by  England.  Portugal  yielded  in  order  to  pre- 
serve her  own  existence.  England  could  calmly  await 
any  future  complications  which  might  arise  on  the  con- 
tinent. 

la  So  far  as  home  government  was  concerned,  Cromwell 
possessed  two  qualities  very  opposite  in  themselves,  yet 
supplementing  each  other,  a  certain  pliancy  in  matters  of 
principle,  and  great  firmness  in  the  exercise  of  authority. 
Had  he  allowed  the  tendencies  of  the  separatists  and  the 
democratic  zeal  of  the  army,  in  conjunction  with  which 
he  rose  to  power,  to  run  their  course  unchecked,  every- 
thing must  have  been  plunged  in  chaotic  confusion,  and 
the  existence  of  the  new  state  would  have  been  impossi- 
ble. Utterly  opposite  as  he  was  to  King  Charles  in  dis- 
position and  character,  and  in  the  general  bent  of  his 
mind,  yet  Cromwell  exercised  a  very  similar  influence 
upon  the  English  constitution.  The  king  upheld  the 
idea  of  the  English  Church  :  in  defense  of  this  he  died. 
Cromwell  was  the  champion  of  civil  law  and  personal 
property.  He  broke  with  his  party  when  it  attacked 
these  fundamental  principles  of  society  and  of  the  state. 

13  It  was  of  the  most  lasting  importance  for  England  tint 
he  did  this  without  fettering  himself  with  the  idea  of  the 
kingly  power,  and  relying  simply  on  the  necessity  of  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.         .        297 

case.  But  it  was  beyond  his  power  thus  to  consolidate  a 
tolerably  durable  political  constitution.  His  was  at  best 
but  a  de  facto  authority,  depending  for  its  existence  on 
the  force  of  arms  and  his  own  personal  character.  Such 
a3  it  was,  it  was  felt  to  be  an  oppressive  burden,  at  home 
no  less  by  those  who  longed  for  a  return  to  the  old  legiti- 
mate forms  than  by  his  own  party,  whom  he  excluded 
from  all  share  in  public  authority ;  abroad  by  those  who 
feared  him,  and  by  those  who  were  his  allies.  In  Am- 
sterdam this  feeling  was  grotesquely  enough  expressed. 
When  the  news  was  received  of  Cromwell's  death,  there 
was  a  momentary  cessation  of  business.  People  were 
seen  to  dance  in  the  streets,  crying  "  The  devil  is  dead  ! " 
And  so  in  London  the  mob  were  heard  to  utter  curses 
when  Richard  Cromwell,  Oliver's  son,  was  proclaimed 
Protector. 


1"HE   EMPEROR   CHARLES  V   PERFORMS  THE   FUNE- 
RAL SERVICE   FOR  HIMSELF. 

STIRLING'S  "CLOISTER  LIFE  OF  THE  EMPEROR  CHARLES  v." 

Three  or  four  years  before  his  death,  Charles  V,  Emperor  of 
Germany,  abdicated  his  throne,  and  retired  to  the  seclusion  of  a 
monastery  at  Yuste,  in  Spain.  In  his  retirement  he  still  manifested 
the  most  active  interest  in  the  great  events  of  contemporary  history. 
The  funeral  service,  described  by  Stirling,  is  an  interesting  episode 
in  the  Emperor's  checkered  life.  Charles  V  was  the  father  of 
Philip  II  of  Spain,  and  nephew  of  Catharine  of  Aragon,  first  wife 
of  Henry  VIII  of  England.  He  died  in  1558,  the  same  year  in 
which  Elizabeth  became  queen  of  England. 

ABOUT  this  time  (August,  1558),  according  to  the  his-1 
torian  of  St.  Jerome,  his  thoughts  seemed  to  turn  more 
than  usual  to  religion  and  its  rites.     Whenever  during 


298  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

his  stay  at  Yuste  any  of  his  friends,  of  the  degree  of 
princes  or  knights  of  the  fleece,  had  died,  he  had  ever 
been  punctual  in  doing  honor  to  their  memory,  by  caus- 
ing their  obsequies  to  be  performed  by  the  friars ;  and 
these  lugubrious  services  may  be  said  to  have  formed  the 
festivals  of  the  gloomy  life  of  the  cloister.  The  daily 
masses  said  for  his  own  soul  were  always  accompanied  by 
others  for  the  souls  of  his  father,  mother,  and  wife.  But 
now  he  ordered  further  solemnities  of  the  funeral  kind 
to  be  performed  in  behalf  of  these  relations,  each  on  a 
different  day,  and  attended  them  himself,  preceded  by  a 
page  bearing  a  taper,  and  joining  in  the  chant,  in  a  very 
devout  and  audible  manner,  out  of  a  tattered  prayer-book. 

2  These  rites  ended,  he  asked  his  confessor  whether  he 
might  not  now  perform  his  own  funeral,  and  so  do  for 
himself  what  would  soon  have  to  be  done  for  him  by 
others.      Kegla  replied   that  his  majesty,   please   God, 
might  live  many  years,  and  that  when  his  time  cam;' 
these  services  would  be  gratefully  rendered,  without  his 
taking  any  thought  about  the  matter.     "  But,"  ] 
Charles,  "  would  it  not  be  good  for  my  soul  ? "     The 
monk  said  that  certainly  it  would  ;    pious  works  done 
daring  life  being  far  more   efficacious  than  when  post- 
poned  till  after    death.      Preparations    were    therefore 
at  once  set  on  foot ;  a  catafalque,  which  had  served  be- 
fore on  similar  occasions,  was  erected ;  and  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  the  30th  of  August,  as  the  monkish  historian 
relates,  this  celebrated  service  was  actually  performed. 

3  The  high  altar,  the   catafalque,  and   the  whole  church 
shone  with  a  blaze  of  wax-lights ;  the  friars  were  all  in 
their  places,  at  the  altars,  and  in  the  choir,  and  the  hou Be- 
hold of  the  Emperor  attended  in  deep  mourning.     "  The 
pious  monarch  himself  was  there,  attired  in  sable  weeds, 
and  bearing  a  taper,  to  see  himself  interred  and  to  cele- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  299 

brate  his  own  obsequies."  While  the  solemn  mass  for 
the  dead  was  sung,  he  came  forward  and  gave  his  taper 
into  the  hands  of  the  officiating  priest,  in  token  of  his  de- 
sire to  yield  his  soul  into  the  hands  of  his  Maker.  High 
above,  over  the  kneeling  throne  and  the  gorgeous  vest- 
ments, the  flowers,  the  curling  incense,  and  the  glittering 
altar,  the  same  idea  shone  forth  in  that  splendid  canvas 
whereon  Titian  had  pictured  Charles  kneeling  on  the 
threshold  of  the  heavenly  mansions  prepared  for  the 
blessed.  The  funeral  rites  ended,  the  Emperor  dined  in  4 
his  western  alcove.  He  ate  little,  but  he  remained  for  a 
great  part  of  the  afternoon  sitting  in  the  open  air,  and 
basking  in  the  sun,  which,  as  it  descended  to  the  horizon, 
beat  strongly  upon  the  white  walls.  Feeling  a  violent 
pain  in  his  head,  he  returned  to  his  chamber  and  lay 
down.  Mathisio,  whom  he  had  sent  in  the  morning  to 
Xarandrilla  to  attend  the  Count  of  Oropesa  in  his  illness, 
found  him  when  he  returned  still  suffering  considerably, 
and  attributed  the  pain  to  his  having  remained  too  long 
in  the  hot  sunshine.  Next  morning  he  was  somewhat 
better,  and  was  able  to  get  up  and  go  to  mass,  but  still 
felt  oppressed,  and  complained  much  of  thirst.  He  told 
his  confessor,  however,  that  the  service  of  the  day  before 
had  done  him  good.  The  sunshine  again  tempted  him 
into  his  open  gallery.  As  he  sat  there,  he  sent  for  a  5 
portrait  of  the  Empress,  and  hung  for  some  time,  lost  in 
thought,  over  the  gentle  face,  which,  with  its  blue  eyes, 
auburn  hair,  and  pensive  beauty,  somewhat  resembled 
the  noble  countenance  of  that  other  Isabella,  the  great 
Queen  of  Castile.  He  next  called  for  a  picture  of  "  Our 
Lord  Praying  in  the  Garden,"  and  then  for  a  sketch  of 
the  "Last  Judgment,"  by  Titian.  Having  looked  his 
last  upon  the  image  of  the  wife  of  his  youth,  it  seemed  as 
if  he  were  now  bidding  farewell,  in  the  contemplation  of 


300  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

these  other  favorite  pictures,  to  the  noble  art  which  he 
had  loved  with  a  love  which  cares  and  years  and  sick- 
ness could  not  quench,  and  that  will  ever  be  remembered 
6  with  his  better  fame.  Thus  occupied,  he  remained  so 
long  abstracted  and  motionless  that  Mathisio,  who  was 
on  tha  watch,  thought  it  right  to  awaken  him  from  his 
reverie.  On  being  spoken  to,  he  turned  round  and  com- 
plained that  he  was  ill.  The  doctor  felt  his  pulse,  and 
pronounced  him  in  a  fever.  Again  the  afternoon  sun 
was  shining  over  the  great  walnut-tree  full  into  the  gal- 
lery. From  this  pleasant  spot,  filled  with  the  fragrance 
of  the  garden  and  the  murmur  of  the  fountain,  and  bright 
with  glimpses  of  the  golden  Vera,  they  carried  him  to 
the  gloomy  chamber  of  his  sleepless  nights,  and  laid  him 
on  the  bed  from  which  he  was  to  rise  no  more. 


VIEW   OF    MEXICO    FROM    THE    SUMMIT   OF 

AHUALCO. 
PRESCOTT'S  "SPANISH  CONQUEST  OP  MEXICO." 

These  scenes  from  Mexican  history  are  taken  from  Prescott's 
"Spanish  Conquest  of  Mexico."  The  conquests  of  Spain  in  the 
western  hemisphere  were  very  extensive,  and  were  principally 
made  during  the  sixteenth  century,  the  great  era  of  Spanish  glory. 
The  exploits  of  her  commanders  in  the  Western  World,  while  not 
devoid  of  cruelty,  were  full  of  adventure  and  romantic  daring. 
These  remarks  apply  especially  to  Cortez,  the  Spanish  conqueror  of 
Mexico,  whose  career  was  marked  by  thrilling  scenes  and  u  moving 
incidents."  Spain  has  now  lost  nearly  all  her  possessions  in  the 
western  hemisphere.  The  student  should  remember  that  the  Span- 
ish settlement  of  Florida  was  made  before  the  English  settlements 
of  Roanoke  Island  and  Jamestown. 

1       THEIR  progress  was  now  comparatively  easy,  and  they 
marched  forward  with  a  buoyant  step,  as  they  felt  they 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  SOI 

were  treading  the  soil  of  Montezuma.  They  had  not  ad- 
vanced far  when,  turning  an  angle  of  the  Sierra,  they 
suddenly  came  on  a  view  which  more  than  compensated 
the  toils  of  the  preceding  day.  It  was  that  of  the  valley 
of  Mexico,  or  Tenochtitlan,  as  more  commonly  called  by 
the  natives,  which,  with  its  picturesque  assemblage  of 
water,  woodland,  and  cultivated  plains,  its  shining  cities 
and  shadowy  hills,  was  spread  out  like  some  gay  and  gor- 
geous panorama  before  them.  In  the  highly  rarefied  2 
atmosphere  of  these  upper  regions,  even  remote  objects 
have  a  brilliancy  of  coloring  and  a  distinctness  of  outline 
which  seem  to  annihilate  distance.  Stretching  far  away 
at  their  feet  were  seen  noble  forests  of  oak,  sycamore,  and 
cedar,  and  beyond,  yellow  fields  of  maize,  and  the  tow- 
ering maguey,  intermingled  with  orchards  and  blooming 
gardens ;  for  flowers,  in  such  demand  for  their  religious 
festivals,  were  even  more  abundant  in  this  populous  val- 
ley than  in  other  parts  of  Anahuac.  In  the  center  of  the  3 
great  basin  were  beheld  the  lakes,  occupying  then  a  much 
larger  portion  of  its  surface  than  at  present,  their  borders 
thickly  studded  with  towns  and  hamlets;  and  in  the 
midst — like  some  Indian  empress  with  her  coronal  of 
pearls — the  fair  city  of  Mexico,  with  her  white  towers 
and  pyramidal  temples,  reposing,  as  it  were,  on  the  bosom 
of  the  waters — the  far-famed  "Venice  of  the  Aztecs." 
High  over  all  rose  the  royal  hill  of  Chapultepec,  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Mexican  monarchs,  crowned  with  the  same 
grove  of  gigantic  cypresses  which  at  this  day  fling  their 
broad  shadows  over  the  land.  In  the  distance,  beyond  the  4 
blue  waters  of  the  lake,  and  nearly  screened  by  interven- 
ing foliage,  was  seen  a  shining  speck,  the  rival  capital  of 
Tezcuco ;  and  still  farther  on,  the  dark  belt  of  porphyry, 
girdling  the  valley  around,  like  a  rich  setting  which  Na- 
ture had  devised  for  the  fairest  of  her  jewels.  Such  was 


302  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

the  beautiful  vision  which  broke  on  the  eyes  of  the  con- 
querors. And  even  now,  when  so  sad  a  change  has  come 
over  the  scene ;  when  the  stately  forests  have  been  laid 
low,  and  the  soil,  unsheltered  from  the  fierce  radiance  of  a 
tropical  sun,  is  in  many  places  abandoned  to  sterility ; 
when  the  waters  have  retired,  leaving  a  broad  and  ghastly 
margin  white  with  the  incrustation  of  salts,  while  the 
cities  and  hamlets  on  their  borders  have  moldered  into 
ruins ;  even  now  that  desolation  broods  over  the  land- 
scape, so  indestructible  are  the  lines  of  beauty  which  Na- 
ture has  traced  on  its  features,  that  no  traveler,  however 
cold,  can  gaze  on  them  with  any  other  emotions  than 
5  those  of  astonishment  and  rapture.  What,  then,  must 
have  been  the  emotions  of  the  Spaniards,  when,  after 
working  their  toilsome  way  into  the  upper  air,  the  cloudy 
tabernacle  parted  before  their  eyes,  and  they  beheld  these 
fair  scenes  in  all  their  pristine  magnificence  and  beauty  ! 
It  was  like  the  spectacle  which  greeted  the  eyes  of  Moses 
from  the  summit  of  Pisgah,  and  in  the  warm  glow  of 
their  feelings  they  cried  out,  "  It  is  the  promised  land ! " 


SPAIN    IN   THE   AGE   OF  FERDINAND   AND   ISABELLA. 
PRESCOTT'S  ''HISTORY  OF  FERDINAND  AND  ISABELLA." 

It  was  during  the  reign  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  that  the  foun- 
dations of  Spanish  greatness  were  laid.  The  Moors  were  completely 
prostrated,  the  Spanish  power  was  consolidated,  and  Spain  I- 
that  career  of  greatness  which  lasted  until  the  hitter  part  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  The  good  Queen  Isabella  was  the  friend  and 
patron  of  Columbus.  How  was  Charles  V,  Emperor  of  Germany, 
related  to  Ferdinand  and  Isabella? 

1       THE  extraordinary  circumstances  of  the  country  tended 
naturally  to  nourish  the  lofty,  romantic  qualities,  and  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  SO3 

somewhat  exaggerated  tone  of  sentiment,  which  always 
pervaded  the  national  character.  The  age  of  chivalry 
had  not  faded  away  in  Spain,  as  in  most  other  lands.  It 
was  fostered,  in  time  of  peace,  by  the  tourneys,  jousts, 
and  other  warlike  pageants  which  graced  the  court  of 
Isabella.  It  gleamed  out,  as  we  have  seen,  in  the  Italian 
campaigns  under  Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  and  shone  forth 
in  all  its  splendors  in  the  war  of  Granada.  "  This  was  a 
right  gentle  war,"  says  Navagiero,  in  a  passage  too  perti- 
nent to  be  omitted,  "  in  which,  as  fire-arms  were  compara- 
tively little  used,  each  knight  had  the  opportunity  of 
showing  his  personal  prowess ;  and  rare  was  it  that  a  day 
passed  without  some  feat  of  arms  and  valorous  exploit. 
The  nobility  and  chivalry  of  the  land  all  thronged  there  2 
to  gather  renown.  Queen  Isabella,  who  attended  with 
her  whole  court,  breathed  courage  into  every  heart. 
There  was  scarce  a  cavalier  who  was  not  enamored  of 
some  one  or  other  of  her  ladies,  the  witness  of  his 
achievements,  and  who,  as  she  presented  him  his  weap- 
ons, or  some  token  of  her  favor,  admonished  him  to  bear 
himself  like  a  true  knight,  and  show  the  strength  of  his 
passion  by  his  valiant  deeds.  "What  knight  so  craven, 
then,"  exclaims  the  chivalrous  Venetian,  "  that  he  would 
not  have  been  more  than  a  match  for  the  stoutest  adver- 
sary ;  or  who  would  not  sooner  have  lost  his  life  a  thou- 
sand times  than  return  dishonored  by  the  lady  of  his 
love.  In  truth,"  he  concludes,  u  this  conquest  may  be 
said  to  have  been  achieved  by  love  rather  than  by  arms." 

The  Spaniard  was  a  knight-errant^  in  its  literal  sense,  3 
roving  over  seas  on  which  no  bark  had  ever  ventured, 
among  islands  and  continents  where  no  civilized  man  had 
ever  trodden,  and  which  fancy  peopled  with  all  the  mar- 
vels and  drear  enchantments  of  romance ;  courting  dan- 
ger in  every  form,  combating  everywhere,  and  every- 


304  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

where  victorious.  The  very  odds  presented  by  the 
defenseless  natives  among  whom  he  was  cast — "  a  thou- 
sand of  whom,"  to  quote  the  words  of  Columbus,  "  were 
not  equal  to  three  Spaniards" — was  in  itself  typical  of 
his  profession ;  and  the  brilliant  destinies  to  which  the 
meanest  adventurer  was  often  called,  now  carving  out 
with  his  good  sword  some  "  El  Dorado "  more  splendid 
than  fancy  had  dreamed  of,  and  now  overturning  some 
old  barbaric  dynasty,  were  full  as  extraordinary  as  the 
wildest  chimeras  which  Ariosto  ever  sang,  or  Cervanees 
satirized. 

4  His  countrymen   who    remained   at   home,   feeding 
greedily  on  the  reports  of  his  adventures,  lived  almost 
equally  in  an  atmosphere  of  romance.    A  spirit  of  chival- 
rous enthusiasm  penetrated  the  very  depths  of  the  nation, 
swelling  the  humblest  individual  with  lofty  aspirations, 
and  a  proud  consciousness  of  the  dignity  of  his  nature. 
"  The  princely  disposition  of  the  Spaniards,"  says  a  for- 
eigner of  the  time,  "  delighteth  me  much,  as  well  as  the 
gentle  nurture  and   noble  conversation,  not  merely  of 
those  of  high  degree,  but  of  the  citizen,  peasant,  and  com- 
mon laborer."    What  wonder  that  such  sentiments  should 
be  found  incompatible  with  sober,  methodical  habits  of 
business,  or  that  the  nation  indulging  them  should  be 
seduced  from  the  humble  paths  of  domestic  industry  to  a 
brilliant  and  bolder  career  of  adventure!     Such  conse- 
quences became  too  apparent  in  the  following  reign. 

5  The  glories  of  the  age  of  Charles  Y  must  find  their 
true  source  in  the  measures  of  his  illustrious  predeces- 
sors.     It   was   in  their  court   that   Boscan,    Garcilasso, 
Mendoza,  and  the  other  master  spirits  were  trained,  who 
molded  Castilian  literature  into  the  new  and  more  clas- 
sical forms  of  later  times.     It  was  under  Gonsalvo  de 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  SOS 

Cordova  that  Leyva,  Pescara,  and  those  great  captains 
with  their  invincible  legions  were  formed,  who  enabled 
Charles  V  to  dictate  laws  to  Europe  for  half  a  centu- 
ry. And  it  was  Columbus  who  not  only  led  the  way, 
but  animated  the  Spanish  navigator  with  the  spirit  of 
discovery.  Scarcely  was  Ferdinand's  reign  brought  to 
a  close  before  Magellan  completed  what  that  monarch 
had  projected  —  the  circumnavigation  of  the  southern 
continent ;  the  victorious  banners  of  Cortes  had  already 
penetrated  into  the  golden  realms  of  Montezuma,  and 
Pizarro,  a  very  few  years  later,  following  up  the  lead  of 
Balboa,  embarked  on  the  enterprise  which  ended  in  the 
downfall  of  the  splendid  dynasty  of  the  Incas. 

Thus  it  is  that  the  seed  sown  under  a  good  system  6 
continues  to  yield  fruit  in  a  bad  one.  The  season  of  the 
most  brilliant  results,  however,  is  not  always  that  of  the 
greatest  national  prosperity.  The  splendors  of  foreign 
conquest  in  the  boasted  reign  of  Charles  Y  were  dear- 
ly purchased  by  the  decline  of  industry  at  home,  and 
the  loss  of  liberty.  The  patriot  will  see  little  to  cheer 
him  in  this  "  golden  age  "  of  the  national  history,  whose 
outward  show  of  glory  will  seem  to  his  penetrating  eye 
only  the  hectic  brilliancy  of  decay.  He  will  turn  to  an 
earlier  period,  when  the  nation,  emerging  from  the  sloth 
and  license  of  a  barbarous  age,  seemed  to  renew  its 
ancient  energies,  and  to  prepare  like  a  giant  to  run  its 
course ;  and,  glancing  over  the  long  interval  since  elapsed, 
during  the  first  half  of  which  the  nation  wasted  itself  on 
schemes  of  mad  ambition,  and  in  the  latter  has  sunk  into 
a  state  of  paralytic  torpor,  he  will  fix  his  eye  on  the  reign 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  as  the  most  glorious  epoch  in 
the  annals  of  his  country. 


306  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 


SPAIN   IN  THE  AGE  OF  FERDINAND  AND  ISABELLA.— 
(Continued.) 

PEESOOTT'S  "HISTOBY  OF  FERDINAND  AND  ISABELLA." 

1  THE  most  important  of   the  distant   acquisitions  of 
Spain  were  those  secured  to  her  by  the  genius  of  Colum- 
bus and  the  enlightened  patronage  of  Isabella.     Imagina- 
tion had  ample  range  in  the  boundless  perspective  of 
these  unknown  regions ;  but  the  results  actually  realized 
from  the  discoveries,  during  the  Queen's  life,  were  com- 
paratively insignificant.     In  a  mere  financial  view,  they 
had  been  a  considerable  charge  ou  the  crown.     This  was, 
indeed,  partly  owing  to  the  humanity  of  Isabella,  who 
interfered,  as  we  have  seen,  to  prevent  the  compulsory 
exaction  of  Indian  labor.     This  was  subsequently,  and 
immediately  after  her  death,  indeed,  carried  to  such  an 
extent  that  nearly  half  a  million  of  ounces  of  gold  were 
yearly  drawn  from  the  mines  of  Hispaniola  alone.     The 
pearl  fisheries,  and  the  culture  of  the  sugar  cane,  intro- 
duced from  the  Canaries,  yielded  large  returns  under  the 
same  inhuman  system. 

2  Ferdinand,  who  enjoyed,  by  the  Queen's  testament, 
half  the  amount  of  the  Indian  revenues,  was  now  fully 
awakened  to  their  importance.    It  would  be  unjust,  how- 
ever, to  suppose  his  views  limited  to  immediate  pecuniary 
profits ;  for  the  measures  he  pursued  were,  in  many  re- 
spects, well  contrived  to  promote  the  nobler  ends  of  dis- 
covery and  colonization.     He  invited  the  persons  most 
eminent  for  nautical  science  and  enterprise,  as  Pinzon, 
Solis,  Vespucci,  to  his  court,  where  they  constituted  a 
sort   of  board   of  navigation,   constructing  charts,  and 
tracing  out  new  routes  for  projected  voyages.     The  con- 
duct of  this  department  was  intrusted  to  the  last-men- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  SO7 

tioned  navigator,  who  had  the  glory,  the  greatest  which 
accident  and  caprice  ever  granted  to  man,  of  giving  his 
name  to  the  new  hemisphere. 

Fleets  were  now  fitted  out  on  a  more  extended  scale,  3 
which  might  vie,  indeed,  with  the  splendid  equipments 
of  the  Portuguese,  whose  brilliant  successes  in  the  East 
excited  the  envy  of  their  Castilian  rivals.  The  King  oc- 
casionally took  a  share  in  the  voyage,  independently  of 
the  interest  which  of  right  belonged  to  the  crown. 

The  government,  however,  realized  less  from  these 
expensive  enterprises  than  individuals,  many  of  whom, 
enriched  by  their  official  stations,  or  by  accidentally  fall- 
ing in  with  some  hoard  of  treasure  among  the  savages, 
returned  home  to  excite  the  envy  and  cupidity  of  their 
countrymen.  But  the  spirit  of  adventure  was  too  high  4 
among  the  Castilians  to  require  such  incentive,  especially 
when  excluded  from  its  usual  field  in  Africa  and  Europe. 
A  striking  proof  of  the  facility  with  which  the  romantic 
cavaliers  of  that  day  could  be  directed  to  this  new  career 
of  danger  on  the  ocean  was  given  at  the  time  of  the 
last  meditated  expedition  into  Italy  under  the  Great  Cap- 
tain. A  squadron  of  fifteen  vessels,  bound  for  the  New 
"World,  was  then  riding  in  the  Guadalquivir.  Its  com- 
plement was  limited  to  one  thousand  two  hundred  men ; 
but,  on  Ferdinand's  countermanding  Gonsalvo's  enter- 
prise, more  than  three  thousand  volunteers,  many  of  them 
of  noble  family,  equipped  with  unusual  magnificence  for 
the  Italian  service,  hastened  to  Seville,  and  pressed  to  be 
admitted  into  the  Indian  armada.  Seville  itself  was  in  a 
manner  depopulated  by  the  general  fever  of  emigration, 
so  that  it  actually  seemed,  says  a  contemporary,  to  be 
tenanted  only  by  women. 

In  this  universal  excitement  the  progress  of  discovery  5 
was  pushed  forward  with  a  success  inferior,  indeed,  to 
21 


308  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

what  might  have  been  effected  in  the  present  state  of 
nautical  skill  and  science,  but  extraordinary  for  the  times. 
The  winding  depths  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  were  pene- 
trated, as  well  as  the  borders  of  the  rich  but  rugged 
isthmus  which  connects  the  American  continents.  In 

1512  Florida  was  discovered  by  a  romantic  old  knight, 
Ponce  de  Leon,  who,  instead  of  the  magical  fountain  of 
health,  found  his  grave  there.     Solis,  another  navigator, 
who  had  charge  of  an  expedition,  projected  by  Ferdinand, 
to  reach  the  South  Sea  by  the  circumnavigation  of  the 
continent,  ran  down  the  coast  as  far  as  the  great  Rio  de 
la  Plata,  where  he  also  was  cut  off  by  the  savages.     In 

1513  Vasco  Nufiez  de  Balboa  penetrated,  with  a  handful 
of  men,  across  the  narrow  part  of  the  Isthmus  of  Darien, 
and  from  the  summit  of  the  Cordilleras,  the  first  of  Eu- 
ropeans, was  greeted  with  the  long-promised  vision  of  the 
southern  ocean. 

6  The  intelligence  of  this  event  excited  a  sensation  in 
Spain  inferior  only  to  that  caused  by  the  discovery  of 
America.     The  great  object  which  had  so  long  occupied 
the  imagination  of   the  nautical  men  of  Europe,  and 
formed  the  purpose  of  Columbus's  last  voyage,  the  dis- 
covery of  a  communication  with  these  far  western  waters, 
was  accomplished.    The  famous  spice  islands,  from  which 
the  Portuguese  had  drawn  such  countless  sums  of  wealth, 
were  scattered  over  this  sea ;  and  the  Castilians,  after  a 
journey  of  a  few  leagues,  might  launch  their  barks  on  its 
quiet  bosom,  and  reach,  and  perhaps  claim,  the  coveted 
possessions  of  their  rivals,  as  falling  west  of  the  papal 
line  of  demarkation.     Such  were  the  dreams,  and  such 
the  actual  progress  of  discovery,  at  the  close  of  Ferdi- 
nand's reign. 

7  Our  admiration  of  the  dauntless  heroism  displayed 
by  the  early  Spanish  navigators,  in  their  extraordinary 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  3O9 

career,  is  much  qualified  bj  a  consideration  of  the  cruel- 
ties with  which  it  was  tarnished ;  too  great  to  be  either 
palliated  or  passed  over  in  silence  by  the  historian.  As 
long  as  Isabella  lived,  the  Indians  found  an  efficient  friend 
and  protector;  but  "her  death,"  says  the  venerable  Las 
Casas,  "was  the  signal  for  their  destruction."  Imme- 
diately on  that  event,  the  system  of  repartimientos — orig- 
inally authorized,  as  we  have  seen,  by  Columbus,  who 
seems  to  have  had  no  doubt,  from  the  first,  of  the  crown's 
absolute  right  of  property  over  the  natives — was  carried 
to  its  full  extent  in  the  colonies.  Every  Spaniard,  how- 
ever humble,  had  his  proportion  of  slaves;  and  men, 
many  of  them  not  only  incapable  of  estimating  the  awful 
responsibility  of  the  situation,  but  without  the  least  touch 
of  humanity  in  their  natures,  were  individually  intrusted 
with  the  unlimited  disposal  of  the  lives  and  destinies  of 
Jtheir  fellow-creatures.  They  abused  this  trust  in  the 
grossest  manner ;  tasking  the  unfortunate  Indian  far  be- 
yond his  strength,  inflicting  the  most  refined  punishments 
on  the  indolent,  and  hunting  down  those  who  resisted  or 
escaped,  like  so  many  beasts  of  chase,  with  ferocious 
blood-hounds.  Every  step  of  the  white  man's  progress  8 
in  the  New  World  may  be  said  to  have  been  on  the 
corpse  of  a  native.  Faith  is  staggered  by  the  recital  of 
the  number  of  victims  immolated  in  these  fair  regions, 
within  a  very  few  years  after  the  discovery  ;  and  the  heart 
sickens  at  the  loathsome  details  of  barbarities,  recorded 
by  one  who,  if  his  sympathies  have  led  him  sometimes 
to  overcolor,  can  never  be  suspected  of  willfully  misstat- 
ing facts  of  which  he  was  an  eye-witness.  A  selfish  in- 
difference to  the  rights  of  the  original  occupants  of  the 
soil  is  a  sin  which  lies  at  the  door  of  most  of  the  primi- 
tive European  settlers  of  the  New  World.  But  it  is  light 
in  comparison  with  the  fearful  amount  of  crimes  to  be 


310  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

charged  on  the  early  Spanish  colonists — crimes  that  have, 
perhaps,  in  this  world,  brought  down  the  retribution  of 
Heaven,  which  has  seen  tit  to  turn  this  fountain  of  inex- 
haustible wealth  and  prosperity  to  the  nation  into  the 
waters  of  bitterness. 


JULIUS  C/ESAR.— HIS  GENIUS,  HIS  CHARACTER. 
MOMMSEN'S  "HISTORY  OP  ROME." 

Mommsen's  portraiture  of  Julius  Caesar  should  be  compared  with 
Froude's  sketch,  given  in  the  "  Reader."  Julius  Caesar,  the  foremost 
man  of  all  the  ancient  world,  was  endowed  with  the  rarest  versa- 
tility of  talent.  He  was  general,  politician,  scholar,  author,  mathe- 
matician, and  orator.  Scarcely  any  man  has  left  so  deep  and  abiding 
an  impress  upon  all  subsequent  history.  The  Roman  Empire  may 
be  considered  to  have  begun  from  his  accession  to  supreme  power, 
and  around  the  Roman  Empire  nearly  all  ancient  history,  after  its 
establishment,  and  much  of  mediaeval  history,  revolves.  Charle- 
magne and  Otto  are  regarded  as  the  lineal  successors  to  the  throne 
of  the  Caesars.  See  Bryce's  u  Essay  on  the  Holy  Roman  Empire," 
and  Freeman's  "  Historical  Essays."  What  historical  character 
seems  to  have  exercised  the  greatest  fascination  over  the  mind  of 
Shakespeare,  judging  from  the  numerous  allusions  in  his  plays? 

1  THE  new  monarch  of  Eome,  the  first  ruler  of  the 
whole  domain  of  Romano-Hellenic  civilization,  Gains 
Julius  Caesar,  was  in  his  fifty-sixth  year  (born  12  July, 
652  ?)  when  the  battle  of  Thapsus,  the  last  link  in  a  long 
chain  of  momentous  victories,  placed  the  decision  of  the 
future  of  the  world  in  his  hands.  Few  men  have  had 
their  elasticity  so  thoroughly  put  to  the  proof  as  Caesar 
— the  sole  creative  genius  produced  by  Rome,  and  the 
last  produced  by  the  ancient  world,  which,  accordingly, 
moved  on  in  the  track  that  he  marked  out  for  it  until  its 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  311 

eun  had  set.  Sprung  from  one  of  the  oldest  noble  fami- 
lies of  Latium,  which  traced  back  its  lineage  to  the  heroes 
of  the  "  Iliad "  and  the  kings  of  Rome,  and,  in  fact,  to 
the  Venus — Aphrodite,  common  to  both  nations  —  he 
spent  the  years  of  his  boyhood  and  early  manhood  as  the 
genteel  youth  of  that  epoch  were  wont  to  spend  them. 
He  had  tasted  the  sweetness  as  well  as  the  bitterness  of  2 
the  cup  of  fashionable  life ;  had  recited  and  declaimed, 
had  practiced  literature  and  made  verses  in  his  idle  hours, 
had  prosecuted  love  intrigues  of  every  sort,  and  got  him- 
self initiated  into  all  the  mysteries  of  shaving,  curls,  and 
ruffles  pertaining  to  the  toilet-wisdom  of  the  day,  as 
well  as  into  the  far  more  mysterious  art  of  always  bor- 
rowing and  never  paying.  But  the  flexible  steel  of  that 
nature  was  proof  against  even  these  dissipated  and  nighty 
courses;  Caesar  retained  both  his  bodily  vigor  and  his 
elasticity  of  mind  and  heart  unimpaired.  In  fencing  and 
in  riding  he  was  a  match  for  any  of  his  soldiers,  and,  at 
Alexandria,  his  swimming  saved  his  life.  The  incredible 
rapidity  of  his  journeys,  which,  usually,  for  the  sake  of 
gaining  time,  were  performed  at  night — a  thorough  con- 
trast to  the  procession-like  slowness  with  which  Pompeius 
moved  from  one  place  to  another — was  the  astonishment 
of  his  contemporaries,  and  not  the  least  among  the  causes 
of  his  success.  The  mind  was  like  the  body.  His  re-  3 
markable  power  of  intuition  revealed  itself  in  the  pre- 
cision and  practicability  of  all  his  arrangements,  even 
where  he  gave  orders  without  having  seen  with  his  own 
eyes.  His  memory  was  matchless,  and  it  was  easy  for 
him  to  carry  on  several  occupations  simultaneously  with 
equal  self-possession.  Although  a  gentleman,  a  man  of 
genius,  and  a  monarch,  he  had  still  a  heart.  So  long  as 
he  lived,  he  cherished  the  purest  veneration  for  his  worthy 
mother,  Aurelia  (his  father  having  died  early) ;  to  his 


312  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

wives,  and,  above  all,  to  his  daughter  Julia,  he  devoted  an 
honorable  affection,  which  was  not  without  reflex  influ- 
ence, even  on  political  affairs.  With  the  ablest  and  most 
excellent  men  of  his  time,  of  high  and  of  humble  rank, 
he  maintained  noble  relations  of  mutual  fidelity,  with 
each  after  his  kind.  As  he  himself  never  abandoned  any 
of  his  partisans,  after  the  pusillanimous  and  unfeeling 
manner  of  Pompeius,  but  adhered  to  his  friends — and 
that  not  merely  from  calculation — through  good  and  bad 
times,  without  wavering,  several  of  these,  such  as  Aulus 
Hirtius  and  Gaius  Matius,  gave,  even  after  his  death, 
noble  testimonies  of  their  attachment  to  him. 

4  If,  in  a  nature  so  harmoniously  organized,  there  is  any 
one  trait  to  be  singled  out  as  characteristic,  it  is  this — that 
he  stood  aloof  from  all  ideology  and  everything  fanciful. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  Caesar  was  a  man  of  passion,  for 
without  passion  there  is  no  genius ;  but  his  passion  was 
never  stronger  than  he  could  control.     He  had  had  his 
season  of  youth,  and  song,  love,  and  wine  had  taken  joy- 
ous possession  of  liis  mind ;  but  with  him  they  did  not 
penetrate  to  the  inmost  core  of  his  nature.     Literature 
occupied  him  long  and  earnestly ;  but,  while  Alexander 
could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of  the  Homeric  Achilles, 
Csesar,  in  his  sleepless  hours,  mused  on  the  inflections  of 
the  Latin  nouns  and  verbs.     He  made  verses,  as  every- 
body then  did,  but  they  were  weak ;  on  the  other  hand, 
he  was  interested  in  subjects  of  astronomy  and  natural 

5  science.     While  wine  was,  and  continued  to  be,  with 
Alexander  the  destroyer  of  care,  the  temperate  Roman, 
after  the  revels  of  his  youth  were  over,  avoided  it  entirely. 
Around  him,  as  around  all  those  whom  the  full  luster  of 
woman's  love  has  dazzled  in  youth,  fainter  gleams  of  it 
continued  imperishably  to  linger ;  even  in  later  years  he 
had  his  love  adventures  and  successes  with  women,  and 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  313 

he  retained  a  certain  foppishness  in  his  outward  appear- 
ance, or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  a  pleasing  consciousness 
of  his  own  manly  beauty.  He  carefully  covered  the 
baldness,  which  he  keenly  felt,  with  the  laurel  chaplet 
that  he  wore  in  public  in  his  later  years,  and  he  would, 
doubtless,  have  surrendered  some  of  his  victories  if  he 
could  thereby  have  brought  back  his  youthful  locks. 

Csesar  was  thoroughly  a  realist  and  a  man  of  sense ;  6 
and  whatever  he  undertook  and  achieved  was  pervaded 
and  guided  by  the  cool  sobriety  which  constitutes  the 
most  marked  peculiarity  of  his  genius.  To  this  he  owed 
the  power  of  living  energetically  in  the  present,  undis- 
turbed either  by  recollection  or  by  expectation ;  to  this 
he  owed  the  capacity  of  acting  at  any  moment  with  col- 
lected vigor,  and  applying  his  whole  genius  even  to  the 
smallest  and  most  incidental  enterprise ;  to  this  he  owed 
the  many-sided  power  with  which  he  grasped  and  mas- 
tered whatever  understanding  can  comprehend  and  will 
can  compel ;  to  this  he  owed  the  self-possessed  ease  with 
which  he  arranged  his  periods  as  well  as  projected  his 
campaigns ;  to  this  he  owed  the  "  marvelous  serenity " 
which  remained  steadily  with  him  through  good  and  evil 
days ;  to  this  he  owed  the  complete  independence  which 
admitted  of  no  control  by  favorite  or  by  mistress,  or  even 
by  friend.  It  resulted,  moreover,  from  this  clearness  of  7 
judgment  that  Caesar  never  formed  to  himself  illusions 
regarding  the  power  of  fate  and  the  ability  of  man ;  in 
his  case  the  friendly  veil  was  lifted  up  which  conceals 
from  man  the  inadequacy  of  his  working.  However 
prudently  he  planned  and  contemplated  all  possibilities, 
the  feeling  was  never  absent  from  his  heart  that,  in  all 
things,  fortune,  that  is  to  say,  accident,  must  bestow  suc- 
cess ;  and  with  this  may  be  connected  the  circumstance 
that  he  so  often  played  a  desperate  game  with  destiny, 


314  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

and,  in  particular,  again  and  again  hazarded  his  person 
with  daring  indifference.  As,  indeed,  occasionally  men 
of  predominant  sagacity  betake  themselves  to  a  pure  game 
of  hazard,  so  there  was  in  Caesar's  rationalism  a  point  at 
which  it  came  in  some  measure  into  contact  with  mysti- 
cism. 

8  Gifts  such  as  these  could  not  fail  to  produce  a  states- 
man.    From  early  youth,  accordingly,  Caesar  was  a  states- 
man in  the  deepest  sense  of  the  term,  and  his  aim  was  the 
highest  which  man  is  allowed  to  propose  to  himself — the 
political,  military,  intellectual,  and  moral  regeneration  of 
his  own  deeply-decayed   nation,  and   of   the  still  more 
deeply-decayed   Hellenic  nation   intimately  akin  to  his 
own.     The  hard  school  of  thirty  years'  experience  changed 
his  views  as  to  the  means  by  which  this  aim  was  to  be 
reached  ;  his  aim  itself  remained  the  same  in  the  times  of 
his  hopeless  humiliation  and  of  his  unlimited  plenitude 
of  power,  in  the  times  when,  as  demagogue  and  conspira- 
tor, he  stole  toward  it  by  paths  of  darkness,  and  in  those 
when,  as  joint  possessor  of  the  supreme  power  and  then 
as  monarch,  he  worked  at  his  task  in  the  full  light  of  day 

9  before  the  eyes  of  the  world.     All  the  measures  of  a  per- 
manent kind  that  proceeded  from  him  at  the  most  vari- 
ous times  assume  their  appropriate  places  in  the  great 
building  plan.     We  can  not,  therefore,  properly  speak  of 
isolated  achievements  of  Caesar ;  he  did  nothing  isolated. 
"With  justice  men  commend  Caesar  the  orator  for  his  mas- 
culine eloquence,  which,  scorning  all  the  arts  of  the  ad- 
vocate, like  a  clear  flame  at  once  enlightened  and  warmed. 
With  justice,  men  admire  in  Caesar  the  author,  the  inimi- 
table simplicity  of  the  composition,  the  unique  purity 
and  beauty  of  the  language.     With  justice,  the  greatest 
masters  of  war  of  all  times  have  praised  Caesar  the  gen- 
eral, who,  in  a  singular  degree  disregarding  routine  and 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  315 

tradition,  knew  always  how  to  find  out  the  mode  of  war- 
fare by  which  in  the  given  case  the  enemy  was  conquered, 
and  which  was  consequently  in  the  given  case  the  right 
one;  who,  with  the  certainty  of  divination,  found  the 
proper  means  for  every  end ;  who,  after  defeat,  stood 
ready  for  battle  like  William  of  Orange,  and  ended  the 
campaign  invariably  with  victory  ;  who  managed  that  ele- 
ment of  warfare,  the  treatment  of  which  serves  to  dis- 
tinguish military  genius  from  the  mere  ordinary  ability 
of  an  officer — the  rapid  movement  of  masses — with  un- 
surpassed perfection,  and  found  the  guarantee  of  victory, 
not  in  the  massiveness  of  his  forces,  but  in  the  celerity  of 
their  movements ;  not  in  long  preparation,  but  in  rapid 
and  bold  action,  even  with  inadequate  means.  But  all  10 
these  were  with  Caesar  mere  secondary  matters ;  he  was 
no  doubt  a  great  orator,  author,  and  general,  but  he  be- 
came each  of  these  merely  because  he  was  a  consummate 
statesman.  The  soldier  more  especially  played  in  him  al- 
together an  accessory  part,  and  it  is  one  of  the  principal 
peculiarities  by  which  he  is  distinguished  from  Alexan- 
der, Hannibal,  and  Napoleon,  that  he  began  his  political 
activity  not  as  an  officer,  but  as  a  demagogue.  Accord- 
ing to  his  original  plan,  he  had  purposed  to  reach  his  ob- 
ject, like  Pericles  and  Gaius  Gracchus,  without  force  of 
arms,  and  throughout  eighteen  years  he  had,  as  leader  of 
the  popular  party,  moved  exclusively  amid  political  plans 
and  intrigues — until,  reluctantly  convinced  of  the  neces- 
sity for  a  military  support,  he,  when  already  forty  years 
of  age,  headed  an  army.  It  was  natural  that  he  should  11 
even  afterward  remain  still  more  statesman  than  general 
—just  like  Cromwell,  who  also  transformed  himself 
from  a  leader  of  opposition  into  a  military  chief  and 
democratic  king,  and  who  in  general,  little  as  the  Puritan 
hero  seems  to  resemble  the  dissolute  Roman,  is  yet,  in  his 


316  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

development  as  well  as  in  the  objects  which  he  aimed  at 
and  the  results  which  he  achieved,  of  all  statesmen,  per- 
haps, the  most  akin  to  Caesar.  Even  in  his  mode  of  war- 
fare this  improvised  generalship  may  still  be  recognized ; 
the  enterprises  of  Napoleon  against  Egypt  and  against 
England  do  not  more  clearly  exhibit  the  artillery  lieuten- 
ant who  had  risen  by  service  to  command,  than  the  simi- 
lar enterprises  of  Caesar  exhibit  the  demagogue  metamor- 
phosed into  a  general.  A  regularly-trained  officer  would 
hardly  have  been  prepared,  through  political  considera- 
tions of  a  not  altogether  stringent  nature,  to  set  aside  the 
best -founded  military  scruples  in  the  way  in  which  Caesar 
did  on  several  occasions,  most  strikingly  in  the  case  of  his- 
landing  in  Epirus.  Several  of  his  acts  are,  therefore,  cen- 
surable in  a  military  point  of  view ;  but  what  the  general 

12  loses,  the  statesman  gains.     The  task  of  the  statesman  is 
universal  in  its  nature,  like  Caesar's  genius ;  if  he  under- 
took things  the  most  varied  and  most  remote  one  from 
another,  they  had  all,  without  exception,  a  bearing  on  the 
one  great  object  to  which  with  infinite  fidelity  and  con- 
sistency he  devoted  himself ;  and  of  the  manifold  aspects 
and  directions  of  his  great  activity  he  never  preferred  one 
to  another.     Although  a  master  of  the  art  of  war,  he  yet, 
from  statesmanly  considerations,  did  his  utmost  to  avert 
the  civil  strife,  and,  when  it  nevertheless  began,  to  keep 
his  laurels  from  the  stain  of  blood.     Although  the  founder 
of  a  military  monarchy,  he  yet,  with  an  energy  unexam- 
pled in  history,  allowed  no  hierachy  of  marshals  or  gov- 
ernment of  praetorians  to  come  into  existence.     If  he  had 
a  preference  for  any  one  form  of  services  rendered  to  the 
state,  it  was  for  the  sciences  and  arts  of  peace  rather  than 
for  those  of  war. 

13  The  most  remarkable  peculiarity  of  his  action  as  a 
statesman  was  its  perfect  harmony.     In  reality,  all  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  317 

conditions  for  this  most  difficult  of  all  human  functions 
were  united  in  Caesar.  A  thorough  realist,  he  never  al- 
lowed the  images  of  the  past  or  venerable  tradition  to 
disturb  him  ;  with  him  nothing  was  of  value  in  politics 
but  the  living  present  and  the  law  of  reason,  just  as  in 
grammar  he  set  aside  historical  and  antiquarian  research 
and  recognized  nothing  but,  on  the  one  hand,  the  living 
usus  loquendi,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  rule  of  sym- 
metry. A  born  ruler,  he  governed  the  minds  of  men  as 
the  wind  drives  the  clouds,  and  compelled  the  most  hete- 
rogeneous natures  to  place  themselves  at  his  service — 
the  smooth  citizen  and  the  rough  subaltern,  the  noble 
matrons  of  Kome  and  the  fair  princesses  of  Egypt  and 
Mauretania,  the  brilliant  cavalry  officer  and  the  calculat- 
ing banker.  His  talent  for  organization  was  marvelous ;  14 
no  statesman  has  ever  compelled  alliances,  no  general  has 
ever  collected  an  army  out  of  unyielding  and  refractory 
elements  with  such  decision,  and  kept  them  together 
with  such  firmness,  as  Caesar  displayed  in  constraining 
and  upholding  his  coalitions  and  his  legions ;  never  did 
regent  judge  his  instruments  and  assign  each  to  the  place 
appropriate  for  him  with  so  acute  an  eye. 

He  was  monarch;  but  he  never  played  the  king. 
Even  when  absolute  lord  of  Rome,  he  retained  the  de- 
portment of  the  party  leader;  perfectly  pliant  and 
smooth,  easy  and  charming  in  conversation,  complacent 
toward  every  one,  it  seemed  as  if  he  wished  to  be  noth- 
ing but  the  first  among  his  peers.  Caesar  entirely  avoided  15 
the  blunder  of  so  many  men  otherwise  on  an  equality 
with  him,  who  have  carried  into  politics  the  tone  of 
military  command ;  however  much  occasion  his  disagree- 
able relations  with  the  senate  gave  for  it,  he  never  re- 
sorted to  outrages  such  as  that  of  the  eighteenth  Bru- 
maire.  Caesar  was  monarch ;  but  he  was  never  seized  with 


318  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

the  giddiness  of  the  tyrant.  He  is,  perhaps,  the  only  one 
among  the  mighty  men  of  the  earth  who,  in  great  mat- 
ters and  little,  never  acted  according  to  inclination  or 
caprice,  but  always,  without  exception,  according  to  his 
duty  as  ruler,  and  who,  when  he  looked  back  on  his  life, 
found,  doubtless,  erroneous  calculations  to  deplore,  but  no 
false  step  of  passion  to  regret.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
history  of  Caesar's  life  which,  even  on  a  small  scale,  can 
be  compared  with  those  poetico-sensual  ebullitions — such 
as  the  murder  of  Kleitos  or  the  burning  of  Persepolis — 
which  the  history  of  his  great  predecessor  in  the  East 

16  records.     He  is,  in  fine,  perhaps,  the  only  one  of  those 
mighty  men  who  has  preserved  to  the  end  of  his  career 
the  statesman's  tact  of  discriminating  between  the  pos- 
sible and  the  impossible,  and  has  not  broken  down  in  the 
task  which  for  nobly-gifted  natures  is  the  most  difficult 
of  all — the  task  of  recognizing,  when  on  the  pinnacle  of 
success,  its  natural  limits.     What  was  possible  he  per- 
formed, and  never  left  the  possible  good  undone  for  the 
sake  of  the  impossible  better,  never  disdained  at  least  to 
mitigate  by  palliatives  evils  that  were  incurable.     But 
where  he  recognized  that  fate  had  spoken,  he  always 
obeyed.     Alexander  on  the  Hyphasis,  Napoleon  at  Mos- 
cow, turned  back  because  they  were  compelled  to  do  so, 
and  were  indignant  at  destiny  for  bestowing  even  on  its 
favorites  merely  limited  successes ;   Caesar  turned  back 
voluntarily  on  the  Thames  and  on  the  Rhine ;  and  at  the 
Danube  and  the  Euphrates  thought  not  of  unbounded 
plans  of  world-conquest,  but   merely  of  carrying  into 
effect  a  well-considered  regulation  of  the  frontiers. 

17  Such  was  this  unique  man,  whom  it  seems  so  easy  and 
yet  is  so  infinitely  difficult  to  describe.    His  whole  nature 
is  transparent  clearness ;   and  tradition  preserves  more 
copious  and  more  vivid  information  regarding  him  than 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  319 

regarding  any  of  his  peers  in  the  ancient  world.  Of  such 
a  personage  our  conceptions  may  well  vary  in  point  of 
shallowness  or  depth,  but  they  can  not  be,  strictly  speak- 
ing, different  ;  to  every  not  utterly  perverted  inquirer 
the  grand  figure  has  exhibited  the  same  essential  features, 
and  yet  no  one  has  succeeded  in  reproducing  it  to  the 
life.  The  secret  lies  in  its  perfection.  In  his  character 
as  a  man  as  well  as  in  his  place  in  history,  Caesar  occu- 
pies a  position  where  the  great  contrasts  of  existence 
meet  and  balance  each  other.  Of  the  mightiest  creative  18 
power,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  of  the  most  penetrating 
judgment  ;  no  longer  a  youth,  and  not  yet  an  old  man  ; 
of  the  highest  energy  of  will  and  the  highest  capacity  of 
execution  ;  filled  with  republican  ideals,  and  at  the  same 
time  born  to  be  a  king  ;  a  Roman  in  the  deepest  essence 
of  his  nature,  and  yet  called  to  reconcile  and  combine  in 
himself  as  well  as  in  the  outer  world  the  Roman  and  the 
Hellenic  types  of  culture  —  Caesar  was  the  entire  and  per- 
fect man.  Accordingly,  we  miss  in  him,  more  than  in  19 
any  other  historical  personage,  what  are  called  character- 
istic features,  which  are  in  reality  nothing  else  than  de- 
viations from  the  natural  course  of  human  development. 
What  in  Caesar  passes  for  such  at  the  first  superficial 
glance  is,  when  more  closely  observed,  seen  to  be  the 
peculiarity  not  of  the  individual,  but  of  the  epoch  of 
culture  or  of  the  nation  ;  his  youthful  adventures,  for 
instance,  were  common  to  him  with  all  his  more  gifted 
contemporaries  of  like  position,  his  unpoetical  but  strong- 
ly logical  temperament  was  the  temperament  of  Romans 
in  general.  It  formed  part,  also,  of  Caesar's  full  humanity 
that  he  was  in  the  highest  degree  influenced  by  the  con- 
ditions of  time  and  place  ;  for  there  is  no  abstract  hu- 
manity —  the  living  man  can  not  but  occupy  a  place  in  a 
given  nationality  and  in  a  definite  line  of  culture.  Caasar  20 


OF  THK 

TT"MTT7T''RC'TrP'V 


320  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

was  a  perfect  man  just  because  he,  more  than  any  other, 
placed  himself  amid  the  currents  of  his  time,  and  because 
he,  more  than  any  other,  possessed  the  essential  peculiarity 
of  the  Koman  nation— practical  aptitude  as  a  citizen— in 
perfection ;  for  his  Hellenism,  in  fact,  was  only  the  Hel- 
lenism which  had  been  long  intimately  blended  with  the 
Italian  nationality.  But  in  this  very  circumstance  lies 
the  difficulty,  we  may  perhaps  say  the  impossibility,  of 
depicting  Caesar  to  the  life.  As  the  artist  can  paint  every- 
thing save  only  consummate  beauty,  so  the  historian, 
when  once  in  a  thousand  years  he  encounters  the  perfect, 
can  only  be  silent  regarding  it.  For  normality  admits, 
doubtless,  of  being  expressed,  but  it  gives  us  only  the 
negative  notion  of  the  absence  of  defect ;  the  secret  of 
nature,  whereby  in  her  most  finished  manifestations  nor- 
mality and  individuality  are  combined,  is  beyond  expres- 
sion. Nothing  is  left  for  us  but  to  deem  those  fortunate 
who  beheld  this  perfection,  and  to  gain  some  faint  con- 
ception of  it  from  the  reflected  luster  which  rests  im- 
perishably  on  the  works  that  were  the  creation  of  this 
21  great  nature.  These,  also,  it  is  true,  bear  the  stamp  of 
the  time.  The  Roman  hero  himself  stood  by  the  side  of 
his  youthful  Greek  predecessor  not  merely  as  an  equal, 
but  as  a  superior ;  but  the  world  had  meanwhile  become 
old,  and  its  youthful  luster  had  faded.  The  action  of 
Caesar  was  no  longer,  like  that  of  Alexander,  a  joyous 
marching  onward  toward  a  goal  indefinitely  remote ;  he 
built  on,  and  out  of,  ruins,  and  was  content  to  establish 
himself  as  tolerably  and  as  securely  as  possible  within  the 
ample  but  yet  definite  bounds  once  assigned  to  him. 
With  reason,  therefore,  the  delicate  poetic  tact  of  the  na- 
tions has  not  troubled  itself  about  the  unpoetical  Roman, 
and  has  invested  the  son  of  Philip  alone  with  all  the 
golden  luster  of  poetry,  with  all  the  rainbow  hues  of 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  321 

legend.  But  with  equal  reason  the  political  life  of  na- 
tions has,  during  thousands  of  years,  again  and  again  re- 
verted to  the  lines  which  Caesar  drew ;  and  the  fact  that 
the  peoples  to  whom  the  world  belongs  still  at  the  pres- 
ent day  designate  the  highest  of  their  monarchs  by  his 
name,  conveys  a  warning  deeply  significant,  and,  unhap- 
pily, fraught  with  shame. 


CAUSES  OF  THE   FRENCH    REVOLUTION. 
MIGNET'S   "HISTORY   OF  THE   FRENCH  REVOLUTION." 

This  extract  from  Mignet,  one  of  the  best  contemporary  French 
historians,  is  an  enumeration  of  the  causes  that  prepared  the  way 
for  the  French  Revolution.  The  results  of  this  Revolution  were 
most  important,  and  have  largely  affected  the  character  of  all  sub- 
sequent European  history.  The  government  of  France,  for  a  long 
period  before  the  Revolution,  was  an  example,  the  most  perfect 
that  has  been  exhibited  in  modern  times,  of  oppression  reduced  to 
a  science,  and  administered  with  mechanical  exactness.  The  ex- 
cesses of  the  Revolution,  the  Reign  of  Terror,  the  murder  of  Louis 
XVI  and  Marie  Antoinette,  the  career  of  Robespierre,  are  among 
the  most  fearful  outbursts  of  depravity  that  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
The  Revolution  was  instrumental  in  bringing  into  prominence  Na- 
poleon Bonaparte,  who  first  rises  to  fame  by  his  skillful  conduct  of 
the  artillery  at  the  siege  of  Toulon.  In  due  time  the  despotism  of 
the  Bourbons  was  successed  by  the  empire  of  Napoleon.  Mignet, 
Thiers,  and  Carlyle  may  all  be  read  with  advantage  upon  the  his- 
tory of  the  French  Revolution. 

I  AM  about  to  take  a  rapid  review  of  the  history  of  1 
the  French  Revolution,  which  began  the  era  of  new  so- 
cieties in  Europe,  as  the  English  Revolution  had  begun 
the  era  of  new  governments.     This  Revolution  not  only 
modified  the  political  power,  but  it  entirely  changed  the 


322  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

internal  existence  of  the  nation.  The  forms  of  the  so- 
ciety of  the  Middle  Ages  still  remained.  The  land  was 
divided  into  hostile  provinces,  the  population  into  rival 
classes.  The  nobility  had  lost  all  their  powers,  but  still 
retained  all  their  distinctions ;  the  people  had  no  rights, 
royalty  no  limits ;  France  was  in  an  utter  confusion  of 
arbitrary  administration,  of  class  legislation  and  special 

2  privileges  to  special  bodies.     For  these  abuses  the  Revo- 
lution substituted  a  system  more  conformable  with  jus- 
tice, and  better  suited  to  our  times.     It  substituted  law 
in  the  place  of  arbitrary  will,  equality  in  that  of  privi- 
lege ;  delivered  men  from  the  distinctions  of  classes,  the 
land   from   the   barriers  of  provinces,  trade   from  the 
shackles  of  corporations  and  fellowships,  agriculture  from 
feudal  subjection  and  the  oppression  of  titles,  property 
from  the  impediment  of  entails,  and  brought  everything 
to  the  condition  of  one  state,  one  system  of  law,  one 
people. 

3  In  order  to  effect  such  mighty  reformation  as  this,  the 
Revolution  had  many  obstacles  to  overcome,  involving 
transient  excesses  with  durable  benefits.     The  privileged 
sought  to  prevent  it ;  Europe  to  subject  it ;   and  thus 
forced  into  a  struggle,  it  could  not  set  bounds  to  its  efforts, 
or  moderate  its  victory.    Resistance  from  within  brought 
about  the  sovereignty  of  the  multitude,  and  aggression 
from  without,  military  domination.     Yet  the  end  was 
attained,  in  spite  of  anarchy  and  in  spite  of  despotism  ; 
the  old  society  was  destroyed  during  the  Revolution,  and 
the  new  one  became  established  under  the  empire. 

4  When  a  reform  has  become  necessary,  and  the  mo- 
ment for  accomplishing  it  has  arrived,  nothing  can  pre- 
vent it ;  everything  furthers  it.     Happy  were  it  for  men 
could  they  then  come  to  an  understanding ;  would  the  rich 
resign  their  superfluity,  and  the  poor  content  themselves 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  323 

with  achieving  what  they  really  needed,  revolutions  would 
then  be  quietly  effected,  and  the  historian  would  have  no 
excesses,  no  calamities  to  record ;  he  would  merely  have 
to  display  the  transition  of  humanity  to  a  wiser,  freer, 
and  happier  condition.  But  the  annals  of  nations  have  5 
not  as  yet  presented  any  instance  of  such  prudent  sacri- 
fices ;  those  who  should  have  made  them  have  refused  to 
do  so ;  those  who  required  them  have  forcibly  compelled 
them ;  and  good  has  been  brought  about,  like  evil,  by 
the  medium  and  with  all  the  violence  of  usurpation.  As 
yet  there  has  been  no  sovereign  but  force. 

In  reviewing  the  history  of  the  important  period  ex-  fl 
tending  from  the  opening  of  the  states-general  to  1814, 
I  propose  to  explain  the  various  crises  of  the  Revolution, 
while  I  describe  their  progress.  It  will  thus  be  seen 
through  whose  fault,  after  commencing  under  such  happy 
auspices,  it  so  fearfully  degenerated  ;  in  what  way  it 
changed  France  into  a  republic,  and  how  upon  the  ruins  of 
the  republic  it  raised  the  empire.  These  various  phases 
were  almost  inevitable,  so  irresistible  was  the  power 
of  the  events  which  produced  them.  It  would,  per- 
haps, be  rash  to  affirm  that,  by  no  possibility,  could  the 
face  of  things  have  been  otherwise  ;  but  it  is  certain  that 
the  Revolution,  taking  its  rise  from  such  causes,  and  em- 
ploying and  arousing  such  passions,  naturally  took  that 
course,  and  ended  in  that  result.  Before  we  enter  upon  7 
its  history,  let  us  see  what  led  to  the  convocation  of  the 
states-general,  which  themselves  brought  on  all  that  fol- 
lowed. In  retracing  the  preliminary  causes  of  the  Revo- 
lution, I  hope  to  show  that  it  was  as  impossible  to  avoid 
as  to  guide  it. 

From  its  establishment  the  French  monarchy  had  had 
no  settled  form,  no  fixed  and  recognized  public  right. 

Under  the  first  races  the  crown  was  elective,  the  nation 

22 


324  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

sovereign,  and  the  king  a  mere  military  chief,  depending 
on  the  common  voice  for  all  decisions  to  be  made,  and 
all  the  enterprises  to  be  undertaken.  The  nation  elected 
its  chief,  exercised  the  legislative  power  in  the  Champs 
de  Mars  under  the  presidentship  of  the  king,  and  the 
judicial  power  in  the  courts  under  the  direction  of  one 

8  of  his  officers.     Under  the  feudal  regime,  this  royal  de- 
mocracy gave  way  to  a  royal  aristocracy.    Absolute  power 
ascended  higher,  the  nobles  stripped   the   people  of  it, 
as  the  prince  afterward  despoiled  the  nobles.     At  this 
period  the  monarch  had  become  hereditary ;  not  as  king, 
but  as  individually  possessor  of  a  fief ;  the  legislative  au- 
thority over  their  vast  territories  belonged  to  the  seig- 
neurs, or  in  the  baron's  parliaments;    and  the  judicial 
authority  to  the  vassals  in  the  manorial  courts.      In  a 
word,  power  had  become  more  and  more  concentrated, 
and,  as  it  had  passed  from  the  many  to  the  few,  it  came 

9  at  last  from  the  few  to  be  invested  in  one  alone.    During 
centuries  of  continuous  efforts,  the  kings  of  France  were 
battering  down  the  feudal  edifice,  and  at  length  they  es- 
tablished themselves  on  its  ruins,  having,  step  by  step, 
usurped  the  fiefs,  subdued  the  vassals,  suppressed  the 
parliaments  of  barons,  annulled  or  subjected  the  manorial 
courts,  assumed  the  legislative  power,  and  effected  that 
judicial  authority  should  be  exercised,  in  their  name  and 
on  their  behalf,  in  parliaments  of  legists. 

10  The  states-general,  which  they  convoked  on  pressing 
occasions,  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  subsidies,  and 
which  were  composed  of  the  three  orders  of  the  nation — 
the  clergy,  the  nobility,  and  the  third  estate  or  commons 
— had  no  regular  existence.  Originated  while  the  royal 
prerogative  was  in  progress,  they  were  at  first  controlled, 
and  finally  suppressed  by  it.  The  strongest  and  most 
determined  opposition  the  kings  had  to  encounter  in  their 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  325 

projects  of  aggrandizement  proceeded  much  less  from 
these  assemblies,  which  they  authorized  or  annulled  at 
pleasure,  than  from  the  nobles  vindicating  against  them, 
first  their  sovereignty,  and  then  their  political  importance. 
From  Philip  Augustus  to  Louis  XI,  the  object  of  all  their 
efforts  was  to  preserve  their  own  power ;  from  Louis  XI 
to  Louis  XIV,  to  become  the  ministers  of  that  of  royalty. 
The  Froude  was  the  last  campaign  of  the  aristocracy. 
Under  Louis  XIY,  absolute  monarchy  definitively  estab- 
lished itself,  and  dominated  without  dispute. 

The  government  of  France,  from  Louis  XIV  to  the  11 
Revolution,  was  still  more  arbitrary  than  despotic;  for 
the  monarchs  had  much  more  power  than  they  exer- 
cised. The  barriers  that  opposed  the  encroachments  of 
this  immense  authority  were  exceedingly  feeble.  The 
crown  disposed  of  persons  by  lettres  de  cachet,  of  property 
by  confiscation,  of  the  public  revenue  by  imposts.  Cer- 
tain bodies,  it  is  true,  possessed  means  of  defense,  which 
were  termed  privileges,  but  these  privileges  were  rarely 
respected.  The  parliament  had  that  of  ratifying  or  of 
refusing  an  impost,  but  the  king  could  compel  its  assent, 
by  a  lit  de  justice,  and  punish  its  members  by  exile.  The 
nobility  were  exempt  from  taxation  ;  the  clergy  were  en- 
titled to  the  privilege  of  taxing  themselves,  in  the  form 
of  free  gifts ;  some  provinces  enjoyed  the  right  of  com- 
pounding the  taxes,  and  others  made  the  assessment  them- 
selves. Such  were  the  trifling  liberties  of  France,  and 
even  these  all  turned  to  the  benefit  of  the  privileged 
classes,  and  to  the  detriment  of  the  people. 

And  this  France,  so  enslaved,  was,  moreover,  miserably  12 
organized ;  the  excesses  of  power  were  still  less  endurable 
than  their  unjust  distribution.     The  nation,  divided  into 
three  orders,  which  subdivided  themselves  into  several 
classes,  was  a  prey  to  all  the  attacks  of  despotism  and  all 


323  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

the  evils  of  inequality.  The  nobility  were  subdivided : 
into  courtiers,  living  on  the  favors  of  the  prince — that  is 
to  say,  on  the  labor  of  the  people,  and  whose  aim  was 
governorships  of  provinces,  or  elevated  ranks  in  the  army ; 
ennobled  parvenus,  who  conducted  the  interior  adminis- 
tration, and  whose  object  was  to  obtain  comptrollerships, 
and  to  make  the  most  of  their  place  while  they  held  it, 
by  jobbing  of  every  description ;  legists,  who  administered 
justice,  and  were  alone  competent  to  perform  its  func- 
tions ;  and  landed  proprietors,  who  oppressed  the  country 
by  the  exercise  of  those  feudal  rights  which  still  survived. 

13  The  clergy  were  divided  into  two  classes :  the  one  destined 
for  the  bishoprics  and  abbeys,  and  their  rich  revenues ; 
the  other  for  the  apostolic  function  and  its  poverty.     The 
third  estate,  ground  down  by  the  court,  humiliated  by 
the  nobility,  was  itself  divided  into  corporations,  which, 
in  their  turn,  exercised  upon  each  other  the  evil  and  the 
contempt  they  received  from  the  higher  classes.     It  pos- 
sessed scarcely  a  third  part  of  the  land,  and  this  was  bur- 
thened  with  the  feudal  rents  due  to  the  lords  of  the 
manor,  tithes   to  the  clergy,  and  taxes  to  the  king.     In 
compensation  for  all  these  sacrifices,  it  enjoyed  no  political 
right,  had  no  share  in  the  administration,  and  was  ad- 
mitted to  no  public  employment. 

14  Louis  XIY  wore  out  the  mainspring  of  absolute  mon- 
archy by  too  protracted  tension  and   too  violent  use. 
Fond  of  sway,  rendered  irritable  by  the  vexations  of  his 
youth,  he  quelled  all  resistance,  forbade  every  kind  of  op- 
position— that  of  the  aristocracy  which  manifested  itself 
in  revolt — that  of  the  parliaments  displayed  by  remon- 
strance— that  of  the  Protestants,  whose  form  was  a  liberty 
of  conscience  which  the  Church  deemed  heretical,  and 
royalty  factious.     Louis  XIY  subdued  the  nobles  by  sum- 
moning them  to  his  court,  where  favors  and  pleasures 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  327 

were  the  compensation  for  their  dependence.  Parlia- 
ment, till  then  the  instrument  of  the  crown,  attempted  to 
become  its  counterbalance,  and  the  prince  haughtily  im- 
posed upon  it  a  silence  and  submission  of  sixty  years'  du- 15 
ration.  At  length  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes 
completed  this  work  of  despotism.  An  arbitrary  govern- 
ment not  only  will  not  endure  resistance,  but  it  demands 
that  its  subjects  shall  approve  and  imitate  it.  After  hav- 
ing subjected  the  actions  of  men,  it  persecutes  conscience ; 
needing  to  be  ever  in  motion,  it  seeks  victims  when  they 
do  not  fall  in  its  way.  The  immense  power  of  Louis 
XI Y  was  exercised,  internally,  against  the  heretics ;  ex- 
ternally, against  all  Europe.  Oppression  found  ambitious 
men  to  counsel  it,  dragoons  to  serve,  and  success  to  en- 
courage it ;  the  wounds  of  France  were  hidden  by  laurels, 
her  groans  were  drowned  in  songs  of  victory.  But  at  16 
last  the  men  of  genius  died,  the  victories  ceased,  industry 
emigrated,  money  disappeared,  and  the  fact  became  evi- 
dent that  the  very  successes  of  despotism  exhaust  its  re- 
sources, and  consume  its  future  ere  that  future  has  ar- 
rived. The  death  of  Louis  XIY  was  the  signal  for  a 
reaction  ;  there  was  a  sudden  transition  from  intolerance 
to  incredulity,  from  the  spirit  of  obedience  to  that  of  dis- 
cussion. Under  the  regency,  the  third  estate  acquired  in 
importance,  by  their  increasing  wealth  and  intelligence, 
all  that  the  nobility  lost  in  consideration,  and  the  clergy 
in  influence.  Under  Louis  XY,  the  court  prosecuted 
ruinous  wars  attended  with  little  glory,  and  engaged  in  a 
silent  struggle  with  opinion,  in  an  open  one  with  the 
parliament.  Anarchy  crept  into  its  bosom,  the  govern- 
ment fell  into  the  hands  of  royal  mistresses,  power  was 
completely  on  the  decline,  and  the  opposition  daily  made 
fresh  progress. 


328  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

NAPOLEON'S  FIRST  OVERTHROW.  —  REFLECTIONS 
UPON  HIS  GENIUS,  AND  THE  INFLUENCE  OF 
HIS  CAREER  UPON  EUROPEAN  CIVILIZATION. 

MIGNET'S  "HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION." 

This  extract  from  Mignet's  "  History  of  the  French  Revolution  " 
is  in  great  measure  an  account  of  Napoleon's  campaigns  just  before 
his  first  overthrow  in  1814.  After  his  disastrous  Russian  campaign, 
nearly  all  the  powers  of  Europe  combined  against  him,  and  France 
was  invaded  in  every  direction.  Notwithstanding  the  desperate 
situation  in  which  he  was  placed,  Napoleon's  genius  never  shone 
with  brighter  luster,  and  he  appears  greater  in  misfortune  than  at 
the  climax  of  success.  Mignet  closes  his  admirable  history  with 
some  reflections  upon  the  character  of  Napoleon  and  the  influence 
of  his  career  upon  the  progress  of  European  civilization.  We  are, 
perhaps,  too  prone  to  regard  Napoleon  as  a  military  commander 
alone,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  reflect  that  his  reign,  though  marked  by 
supreme  selfishness,  was  not  entirely  unproductive  of  salutary 
results. 

1  THE  empire  was  invaded  in  all  directions.     The  Aus- 
trians  entered  Italy ;  the  English,  having  made  themselves 
masters  of  the  Peninsula  during  the  last  two  years,  had 
passed  the  Bidassoa  under  General  Wellington,  and  ap- 
peared on  the  Pyrenees.    Three  armies  pressed  on  France 
to  the  east  and  north.    The  great  allied  army,  amounting 
to  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men,  under  Schwartzen- 
berg,  advanced  by  Switzerland  ;  the  army  of  Silesia,  of 
a  hundred  and  thirty  thousand,  under  Blucher,  by  Frank- 
fort ;  and  that  of  the  north,  of  a  hundred  thousand  men, 
under  Bernadotte,  had  seized  on  Holland  and  entered 
Belgium.      The  enemies,  in  their  turn,  neglected   the 
fortified  places,  and,  taking  a  lesson  from  the  conqueror, 

2  advanced  on  the  capital.     When  Napoleon  left  Paris,  the 
two  armies  of  Schwartzenberg  and  Blucher  were  on  the 
point  of  effecting  a  junction  in  Champaigne.     Deprived 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  329 

of  the  support  of  the  people,  who  were  only  lookers  on, 
Napoleon  was  left  alone  against  the  whole  world  with  a 
handful  of  veterans  and  his  genius,  which  had  lost  noth- 
ing of  its  daring  and  vigor.  At  this  moment  he  stands 
out  nobly,  no  longer  an  oppressor ;  no  longer  a  con- 
queror ;  defending,  inch  by  inch,  with  new  victories,  the 
soil  of  his  country,  and,  at  the  same  time,  his  empire  and 
renown. 

He  marched  into  Champaigne  against  the  two  great  3 
hostile  armies.  General  Maison  was  charged  to  intercept 
Bernadotte  in  Belgium ;  Augereau,  the  Austrians,  at 
Lyons;  Soult,  the  English,  on  the  Spanish  frontier. 
Prince  Eugene  was  to  defend  Italy ;  and  the  empire, 
though  penetrated  to  the  very  center,  still  stretched  its 
vast  arms  into  the  depths  of  Germany  by  its  garrisons 
beyond  the  Rhine.  Napoleon  did  not  despair  of  driving 
these  swarms  of  foes  from  the  territory  of  France  by 
means  of  a  powerful  military  reaction,  and  again  plant- 
ing his  standards  in  the  countries  of  the  enemy.  He  4 
placed  himself  skillfully  between  Blucher,  who  was  de- 
scending the  Marne,  and  Schwartzenberg,  who  descended 
the  Seine ;  he  hastened  from  one  of  these  armies  to  the 
other,  and  defeated  them  alternately ;  Blucher  was  over- 
powered at  Champ-Aubert,  Montdarim,  Chateau-Thier- 
ry, and  Yauchamps ;  and  when  his  army  was  destroyed, 
Napoleon  returned  to  the  Seine,  defeated  the  Austrians 
at  Montereau,  and  drove  them  before  him.  His  combi- 
nations were  so  strong,  his  activity  so  great,  his  measures 
so  sure,  that  he  seemed  on  the  point  of  entirely  disor- 
ganizing these  two  formidable  armies,  and  with  them 
annihilating  the  coalition. 

But,  if  he  conquered  wherever  he  came,  the  foe  tri-  5 
umphed  wherever  he  was  not.     The  English  had  entered 
Bourdeaux,  where  a  party  had  declared  for  the  Bourbon 


330  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

family  ;  the  Austrians  occupied  Lyons  ;  the  Belgian  army 
had  joined  the  remnant  of  that  of  Blueher,  which  reap- 
peared on  Napoleon's  rear.  Defection  now  entered  his 
own  family,  and  Murat  had  just  followed,  in  Italy,  the 
example  of  Bernadotte,  by  joining  the  coalition.  The 
grand  officers  of  the  empire  still  served  him,  but  lan- 
guidly, and  he  only  found  ardor  and  fidelity  in  his  sub- 

6  altern  generals  and  indefatigable  soldiers.     Napoleon  had 
again  marched  on  Blueher,  who  had  escaped  from  him 
thrice  :  on  the  left  of  the  Marne,  by  a  sudden  frost  which 
hardened  the  muddy  ways  among  which  the  Prussians 
had  involved  themselves,  and  were  in  danger  of  perish- 
ing; on  the  Aisne,  through  the  defection  of  Soissons, 
which  opened  a  passage  to  them  at  a  moment  when  they 
had  no  other  way  of  escape ;  at  Craoune,  by  fault  of 
the  Duke  of  Ragusa,  who  prevented  a  decisive  battle  by 
suffering  himself  to  be  surprised  by  night.     After  so 
many  fatalities,  which  frustrated  the  surest  plans,  Napo- 
leon, ill  sustained  by  his  generals,  surrounded  by  the 
coalition,  conceived  the  bold  design  of  transporting  him- 
self to  Saint  Dezier,  and  closing  on  the  enemy  the  egress 

7  from  France.      This  daring  march,  so  full   of  genius, 
startled  for  a  moment  the  confederate   generals,  from 
whom  it  cut  off  all  retreat ;  but,  excited  by  secret  encour- 
agements, without  being  anxious  for  their  rear,  they  ad- 
vanced on  Paris. 

This  great  city,  the  only  capital  of  Europe  which  had 
not  been  the  theatre  of  war,  suddenly  saw  all  the  troops 
of  Europe  enter  its  plains,  and  was  on  the  point  of  under- 
going the  common  humiliation.  It  was  left  to  itself. 
The  Empress,  appointed  regent  a  few  months  before,  had 
just  left  it  to  repair  to  Blois.  Napoleon  was  at  a  distance. 
There  was  not  that  despair  and  that  movement  of  liberty 
which  drive  a  people  to  resistance ;  war  was  no  longer 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  SSI 

made  on  nations,  but  on  governments,  and  the  Emperor 
had  centered  all  the  public  interest  in  himself,  and  placed 
all  his  means  of  defense  in  mechanical  troops.  The  ex- 
haustion was  great ;  a  feeling  of  pride — of  very  just 
pride — alone  made  the  approach  of  the  stranger  painful, 
and  oppressed  every  Frenchman's  heart  at  seeing  his  na- 
tive land  trodden  by  armies  so  long  vanquished.  But  8 
this  sentiment  was  not  sufficiently  strong  to  raise  the 
masses  of  the  population  against  the  enemy ;  and  the 
measures  of  the  royalist  party,  at  the  head  of  which  the 
Prince  of  Benevento  placed  himself,  called  the  allied 
troops  to  the  capital.  An  action  took  place,  however,  on 
the  30th  of  March,  under  the  walls  of  Paris ;  but  on  the 
31st  the  gates  were  opened  to  the  confederate  forces, 
who  entered  in  pursuance  of  a  capitulation.  The  senate 
consummated  the  great  imperial  defection  by  forsaking 
its  old  master ;  it  was  influenced  by  M.  de  Talleyrand, 
who  for  some  time  had  been  out  of  favor  with  Napoleon, 
This  voluntary  actor  in  every  crisis  of  power  had  just 
declared  against  him.  With  no  attachment  to  party,  of 
a  profound  political  indifference,  he  foresaw  from  a  dis- 
tance with  wonderful  sagacity  the  fall  of  a  government ; 
withdrew  from  it  opportunely ;  and,  when  the  precise, 
moment  for  assailing  it  had  arrived,  joined  in  the  attack 
with  all  his  talents,  his  influence,  his  name,  and  his  au- 
thority, which  he  had  taken  care  to  preserve.  In  favor 
of  the  Revolution,  under  the  constituent  assembly  ;  of  the 
directory,  on  the  18th  Fructidor;  for  the  consulate,  on 
the  18th  Brumaire ;  for  the  empire,  in  1804,  he  was  for 
the  restoration  of  the  royal  family  in  1814 ;  he  seemed 
grand  master  of  the  ceremonies  for  the  party  in  power, 
and,  for  the  last  thirty  years,  it  was  he  who  had  dismissed 
and  installed  the  successive  governments.  The  senate,  9 
influenced  by  him,  appointed  a  provisional  government, 


332  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

and  declared  Napoleon  deposed  from  his  throne,  the  he- 
reditary rights  of  his  family  abolished,  the  people  and 
army  freed  from  their  oath  of  fidelity.  It  proclaimed 
him  tyrant,  whose  despotism  it  had  facilitated  by  its  adu- 
lation. Meantime,  Napoleon,  urged  by  those  about  him 
to  succor  the  capital,  had  abandoned  his  march  on  Saint 
Dezier,  and  hastened  to  Paris  at  the  head  of  fifty  thou- 
sand men,  in  the  hope  of  preventing  the  entry  of  the 
enemy.  On  his  arrival  (1st  of  April)  he  heard  of  the 
capitulation  of  the  preceding  day,  and  fell  back  on  Fon- 
tainebleau,  where  he  learned  the  defection  of  the  senate, 
and  his  deposition.  Then,  finding  that  all  gave  way 
around  him  in  his  ill-fortune — the  people,  the  senate,  gen- 
erals, and  courtiers — he  decided  on  abdicating  in  favor  of 
his  son.  He  sent  the  Duke  of  Yicenza,  the  Prince  de 
la  Moskowa,  and  the  Duke  of  Tarento  as  plenipotentiaries 
to  the  confederates  ;  on  their  way  they  were  to  take  with 
them  the  Duke  of  Ragusa,  who  covered  Fontainebleau 
with  a  corps. 

10  Napoleon,  with  his  fifty  thousand  men,  and  strong 
military  position,  could  yet  oblige  the  coalition  to  admit 
the  claim  of  his  son.  But  the  Duke  of  Ragusa  forsook 
his  post,  treated  with  the  enemy,  and  left  Fontainebleau 
exposed.  Napoleon  was  then  obliged  to  submit  to  the 
conditions  of  the  allied  powers;  their  pretensions  in- 
creased with  their  power.  At  Prague  they  ceded  to  him 
the  empire,  with  the  Alps  and  the  Rhine  for  limits; 
after  the  invasion  of  France,  they  offered  liim  at  Cha- 
tillon  the  possessions  of  the  old  monarchy  only ;  later, 
they  refused  to  treat  with  him  except  in  favor  of  his  son  ; 
but  now,  determined  on  destroying  all  that  remained  of 
the  Revolution  with  respect  to  Europe,  its  conquest  and 
dynasty,  they  compelled  Napoleon  to  abdicate  absolutely. 
On  the  llth  of  April,  1814,  he  renounced  for  himself 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  333 

and  children  the  thrones  of  France  and  Italy,  and  re- 
ceived in  exchange  for  his  vast  sovereignty,  the  limits  of 
which  had  extended  from  Cadiz  to  the  Baltic  Sea,  the 
little  Island  of  Elba.  On  the  20th,  after  an  affecting 
farewell  to  his  old  soldiers,  he  departed  for  his  new  prin- 
cipality. 

Thus  fell  this  man,  who  alone,  for  fourteen  years,  had  11 
filled  the  world.  His  enterprising  and  organizing  genius, 
his  power  of  life  and  will,  his  love  of  glory,  and  the  im- 
mense disposable  force  which  the  Revolution  placed  in 
his  hands,  have  made  him  the  most  gigantic  being  of 
modern  times.  That  which  would  have  rendered  the 
destiny  of  another  extraordinary,  scarcely  counts  in  his. 
Rising  from  an  obscure  to  the  highest  rank,  from  a  sim- 
ple artillery  officer  becoming  the  chief  of  the  greatest  of 
nations,  he  dared  to  conceive  the  idea  of  universal  mon- 
archy, and  for  a  moment  realized  it.  After  having  ob- 
tained the  empire  by  his  victories,  he  wished  to  subdue 
Europe  by  means  of  France,  and  reduce  England  by 
means  of  Europe,  and  he  established  the  military  system 
against  the  continent ;  the  blockade  against  Great  Britain. 
This  design  succeeded  for  some  years ;  from  Lisbon  to 
Moscow  he  subjected  people  and  potentates  to  his  word 
of  command  as  general,  and  to  the  vast  sequestration 
which  he  prescribed.  But  in  this  way  he  failed  in  dis- 12 
charging  his  restorative  mission  of  the  18th  Brumaire. 
By  exercising,  on  his  own  account,  the  power  he  had  re- 
ceived, by  attacking  the  liberty  of  the  people  by  despotic 
institutions,  the  independence  of  states  by  war,  he  excited 
against  himself  the  opinions  and  interests  of  the  human 
race ;  he  provoked  universal  hostility.  The  nation  for- 
sook him,  and,  after  having  been  long  victorious,  after 
having  planted  his  standard  on  every  capital,  after  having 
during  ten  years  augmented  his  power,  and  gained  a 


334  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

kingdom  with  every  battle,  a  single  reverse  combined 
the  world  against  him,  proving  by  his  fall  how  impossible 
in  our  days  is  despotism. 

13  Yet  Napoleon,  amid  all  the  disastrous  results  of  his 
system,  gave  a  prodigious  impulse  to  the  continent ;  his 
armies  carried  with  them  the  ideas  and  customs  of  the 
more  advanced  civilization  of  France.     European  societies 
were  shaken  on  their  old  foundations ;  nations  were  min- 
gled  by   frequent    intercourse;    bridges   thrown   across 
boundary  rivers ;  high  roads  made  over  the  Alps,  Apen- 
nines, and  Pyrenees,  brought  territories  nearer  to  each 
other ;  and  Napoleon  effected  for  the  material  condition 
of  states  what  the  Revolution  had  done  for  the  minds  of 
men.     The  blockade  completed  the  impulse  of  conquest ; 
it  improved  continental  industry,  enabling  it  to  take  the 
place  of  that  of  England,  and  replace  colonial  commerce 

14  by  the  produce  of  manufactures.     Thus  Napoleon,  by 
agitating  nations,  contributed  to  their  civilization.     Ilis 
despotism  rendered  him  counter-revolutionary  with  re- 
spect to  France ;  but  his  spirit  of  conquest  made  him  a 
regenerator  with  respect  to  Europe,  of  which  many  nations, 
in  torpor  till  he  came,  will  live  henceforth  with  the  life 
he  gave  them.     But  in  this  Napoleon  obeyed  the  dictates 
of  his  nature.     The  child  of  war — war  was  his  tendency, 
his  pleasure  ;  domination  his  object — he  wanted  to  master 
the  world,  and  circumstances  placed  it  in  his  hand,  in 
order  that  lie  might  make  use  of  it. 

15  Napoleon  has  presented  in  France  what  Cromwell 
presented  for  a  moment  in  England  ;  the  government  of 
the  army,  which  always  establishes  itself  when  a  revolu- 
tion is  contended  against ;  it  then  gradually  changes,  and 
from  being  civil,  as  it  was  at  first,  becomes  military.     In 
Great  Britain,  internal  war  not  being  complicated  with 
foreign  war,  on  account  of  the  geographical  situation  of 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  335 

the  country,  which  isolated  it  from  other  states  as  soon  as 
the  enemies  of  reform  were  vanquished,  the  army  passed 
from  the  field  of  battle  to  the  government.  Its  interven- 
tion being  premature,  Cromwell,  its  general,  found  par- 
ties still  in  the  fury  of  their  passions,  in  all  the  fanaticism 
of  their  opinions,  and  he  directed  against  them  alone  his 
military  administration.  The  French  Revolution,  taking  16 
place  on  the  continent,  saw  the  nations  disposed  for  lib- 
erty, and  sovereigns  leagued  from  a  fear  of  the  liberation 
of  their  people.  It  had  not  only  internal  enemies,  but 
also  foreign  enemies  to  contend  with ;  and  while  its 
armies  were  repelling  Europe,  parties  were  overthrowing 
each  other  in  the  assemblies.  The  military  intervention 
came  later;  Napoleon,  finding  factions  defeated  and 
opinions  almost  forsaken,  obtained  obedience  easily  from 
the  nation,  and  turned  the  military  government  against 
Europe. 

This  difference  of  position  materially  influenced  the 
conduct  and  character  of  these  two  extraordinary  men. 
Napoleon,  disposing  of  immense  force  and  of  uncontested 
power,  gave  himself  up  in  security  to  the  vast  designs 
and  the  part  of  a  conqueror,  while  Cromwell,  deprived 
of  the  assent  which  popular  exhaustion  accords,  inces- 
santly attacked  by  factions,  was  reduced  to  neutralize  them 
one  by  the  other ;  and  to  the  last,  the  military  dictator  of 
parties.  The  one  employed  his  genius  in  undertaking ; 
the  other  in  resisting.  Accordingly,  the  former  had  the  17 
frankness  and  decision  of  power ;  the  other,  the  craft  and 
hypocrisy  of  opposed  ambition.  This  situation  would  de- 
stroy their  sway.  All  dictatorships  are  transient;  and, 
however  strong  or  great,  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  long 
to  subject  parties  or  long  to  retain  kingdoms.  It  is  this 
that,  sooner  or  later,  would  have  led  to  the  fall  of  Crom- 
well (had  he  lived  longer)  by  internal  conspiracies ;  and 


336  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

that  brought  on  the  downfall  of  Napoleon,  by  the  raising 

18  of  Europe.     Such  is  the  fate  of  all  powers  which,  arising 
from  liberty,  do  not  continue  to  abide  with  her.     In  1814 
the  empire  had  just  been  destroyed ;  the  revolutionary 
parties  had  ceased  to  exist  since  the  18th  Brumaire.     All 
the  governments  of   this  political  period  had  been  ex- 
hausted.    The  senate  recalled  the  old  royal  family.     Al- 
ready unpopular  on  account  of  its  past  servility,  it  ruined 
itself  in  public  opinion  by  publishing  a  constitution,  tol- 
erably liberal,  but  which  placed  on  the  same  footing  the 
pensions  of  the  senators  and  the  guarantees  of  the  nation. 
The  Count  d'Artois,  who  had  been  the  first  to  leave 
France,  was  the  first  to  return,  in  the  character  of  lieu- 

19  tenant-general  of  the  kingdom.     He  signed,  on  the  23d 
of  April,  the  convention  of  Paris,  which   reduced   tho 
French  territory  to  its  limits  of  the  1st  of  January,  1792, 
and  by  which  Belgium,  Savoy,  Nice,  and  Geneva,  and 
immense  military  stores,  ceased  to  belong  to  us.     Louis 
XVIII  landed  at  Calais  on  the  24th  of  April,  and  entered 
Paris  with  solemnity  on  the  3d  of  May,  1814,  after  having, 
on  the  2d,  made  the  Declaration  de  Saint  Omer,  which 
fixed  the  principles  of  the  representative  government, 
and  which  was  followed  on  the  2d  of  June  by  the  pro- 
mulgation of  the  charter. 

20  At  this  epoch  a  new  series  of  events  begins.     The 
year  1814  was  the  term  of  the  great  movement  of  the 
preceding   five-and-twenty  years.     The  Revolution  had 
been  political,  as  directed  against  the  absolute  power  of 
the  court  and  the  privileged  classes,  and  military  because 
Europe  had  attacked  it.     The  reaction  which  arose  at 
that  time  only  destroyed  the  empire,  and  brought  about 
the  coalition  in  Europe,  and  the  representative  system  in 
France  ;  such  was  to  be  its  first  period.     Later,  it  opposed 
the  Revolution,  and  produced  the  holy  alliance  against 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  337 

the  people  and  the  government  of  a  party  against  the 
charter.  This  retrograde  movement  necessarily  had  its 
course  and  limits.  France  can  only  be  ruled  in  a  durable 
manner  by  satisfying  the  twofold  need  which  made  it 
undertake  the  Revolution.  It  requires  real  political  lib- 
erty in  the  government ;  and  in  society,  the  material 
prosperity  produced  by  the  continually  progressing  de- 
velopment of  civilization. 


THE    BURIAL-PLACE   OF   MONMOUTH. 
MACATTLAY'S  "HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

This  brilliant  and  pathetic  description  is  from  the  first  volume 
of  Macaulay's  "  England/'  The  Duke  of  Monmouth  was  probably 
the  son  of  Charles  II,  who  seems  to  have  regarded  him  with  as 
much  affection  as  he  was  capable  of  bestowing  upon  any  human 
being.  Upon  the  accession  of  James  II  to  the  English  throne  in 
1685,  Monmouth,  then  in  exile  in  the  Netherlands,  was  prevailed 
upon  to  conduct  a  rebellion  against  the  government,  with  a  view 
to  dethroning  James  II  and  obtaining  the  crown  for  himself.  The 
details  of  that  disastrous  attempt,  the  capture  of  Monmouth,  his 
interview  with  the  king,  his  execution  on  Tower  Hill,  are  all  nar- 
rated with  that  graphic  minuteness  of  which  Macaulay  is  so  great  a 
master.  The  specific  purpose  of  this  extract  is  to  direct  the. atten- 
tion of  the  student  to  the  historical  interest,  so  manifold  and  so  in- 
exhaustible, that  concentrates  around  the  famous  Tower  of  London. 
Historic  buildings,  Westminster  Abbey,  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  the 
Tower,  have  an  individuality,  a  strongly  defined  character  that  in- 
vest them  with  an  irresistible  charm  to  the  student  of  history.  As 
far  back  as  the  Roman  occupation  of  London  there  was  a  fortifica- 
tion on  the  site  of  the  Tower.  The  present  structure  dates  its  be- 
ginning from  the  reign  of  William  the  Conqueror,  who  erected  the 
White  Tower  A.  D.  1078  to  overawe  the  Londoners  and  deter  them 
from  insurrection.  The  "little  cemetery,"  to  which  Macaulay  re- 


338  HISTORIC*!!  READINGS. 

fers,  is  the  Chapel  of  St.  Peter  ad  Vincula,  erected  by  Edward  I 
on  the  site  of  an  ancient  church,  rebuilt  by  Edward  III,  altered  by 
Henry  VIII,  and  "restored  "  about  seven  years  ago  (1877).  It  is  at 
the  northwest  corner  of  the  Tower.  There  is,  indeed,  "no  sadder 
spot"  in  all  the  earth.  Standing  before  the  chancel,  under  which  rest 
so  many  illustrious  victims  of  Tudor  and  Stuart  tyranny,  the  grim 
reality  of  history  rises  up  with  an  almost  overpowering  clearness 
and  force.  In  connection  with  the  subject  of  historic  buildings,  I 
would  suggest  to  the  student  the  eminent  propriety  and  advantage 
of  acquainting  himself  with  the  different  epochs  of  architectural 
growth,  and  the  distinctive  characteristics  of  each  epoch.  The 
growth  of  art  is  an  essential  element  in  the  historic  development 
of  nations,  and  there  is  no  study  intrinsically  more  fascinating,  to 
say  nothing  of  its  practical  utility.  Let  the  student  consult  upon 
the  subject  of  art  Sir  James  Ferguson's  "  History  of  Architecture," 
Freeman's  "Norman  Conquest,"  vol.  v,  chapter  on  "The  Influence 
of  the  Conquest  upon  Art  in  England,"  Freeman's  "  Lectures  on 
Architecture,"  u  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,"  ninth  edition,  article  on 
"  Art,"  Milman's  "  Latin  Christianity."  On  historic  buildings,  espe- 
cially those  in  London,  Baedeker's  "  London  and  its  Environs,"  Lof- 
tie's  "  History  of  London,"  Freeman's  "  Norman  Conquest,"  vols. 
ii  and  iii,  Dean  Stanley's  "  Memorials  of  Westminster  Abbey,"  re- 
vised edition. 

1  IN  the  mean  time,  many  handkerchiefs  had  been 
dipped  in  the  duke's  blood,  for  by  a  large  part  of  the 
multitude  he  was  regarded  as  a  martyr  who  had  died  for 
the  Protestant  religion.    The  head  and  body  were  placed 
in  a  coffin  covered  with  black  velvet,  and  were  laid  pri- 
vately under  the  communion-table  of  St.  Peter's  Chapel 
in  the  Tower.     Within  four  years  the  pavement  of  that 
chancel  was  again  disturbed,  and  hard  by  the  remains  of 

2  Monmouth  were  laid  the  remains  of  Jeffreys.     In  truth, 
there  is  no  sadder  spot  on  the  earth  than  that  h'ttle  ceme- 
tery.    Death  is  there  associated,  not,  as  in  Westminster 
Abbey  and  St.  Paul's,  with  genius  and  virtue,  with  pub- 
lic veneration  and  imperishable  renown — not,  as  in  our 
humblest  churches  and  churchyards,  with  everything  that 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  339 

is  most  endearing  in  social  and  domestic  charities,  but 
with  whatever  is  darkest  in  human  nature  and  in  human 
destiny,  with  the  savage  triumph  of  implacable  enemies, 
with  the  inconstancy,  the  ingratitude,  the  cowardice  of 
friends,  with  all  the  miseries  of  fallen  greatness  and  of 
blighted  fame.  Thither  have  been  carried,  through  sue- 3 
cessive  ages,  by  the  rude  hands  of  jailers,  without  one 
mourner  following,  the  bleeding  relics  of  men  who  had 
been  the  captains  of  armies,  the  leaders  of  parties,  the 
oracles  of  senates,  and  the  ornaments  of  courts.  Thither 
was  borne,  before  the  window  where  Jane  Grey  was 
praying,  the  mangled  corpse  of  Guilford  Dudley.  Ed- 
ward Seymour,  Duke  of  Somerset  and  Protector  of  the 
Realm,  reposes  there  by  the  brother  whom  he  murdered. 
There  are  laid  John  Dudley,  Duke  of  Northumberland, 
Lord  High  Admiral,  and  Thomas  Cromwell,  Earl  of 
Essex,  Lord  High  Treasurer.  There,  too,  is  another  4 
Essex,  on  whom  nature  and  fortune  had  lavished  all  their 
bounties  in  vain,  and  whom  valor,  grace,  genius,  royal 
favor,  popular  applause,  conducted  to  an  early  and  igno- 
minious doom.  Not  far  off  sleep  two  chiefs  of  the  great 
house  of  Howard — Thomas,  fourth  Duke  of  Norfolk, 
and  Philip,  eleventh  Earl  of  Arundel.  Here  and  there,  5 
among  the  thick  graves  of  unquiet  and  aspiring  states- 
men, lie  more  delicate  sufferers — Margaret  of  Salisbury, 
the  last  of  the  proud  name  of  Plantagenet,  and  those  two 
fair  queens  who  perished  by  the  jealous  rage  of  Henry. 
Such  was  the  dust  with  which  the  dust  of  Monmouth 
mingled. 


28 


S40  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 


ENGLAND    IN    1685. 
MAOAULAY'S  "  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND." 

The  transformations  wrought  by  material  progress  are  here  forci- 
bly illustrated  by  Macaulay.  In  Mr.  J.  Halliwell  Phillipps's  "  Out- 
lines of  the  Life  of  Shakespeare,"  there  is  an  excellent  description 
of  Stratford-on-Avon,  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  Shakespeare,  as  con- 
trasted with  the  Stratford-on-Avon  of  our  own  time,  to  which  so 
many  thousands  annually  make  their  pious  pilgrimage.  In  Brew- 
er's "  Studies  in  English  History  and  English  Literature,"  article  on 
**  Ancient  London,"  will  be  found  some  instructive  and  suggestive 
remarks  on  this  subject. 

1  COULD  the  England  of  1685  be,  by  some  magical  pro- 
cess, set  before  our  eyes,  we  should  not  know  one  land- 
scape in  a  hundred  or  one  building  in  ten  thousand.    The 
country  gentleman  would  not  recognize  his  own  fields. 
The  inhabitant  of  the  town  would  not  recognize  his  own 
street.     Everything  has  been  changed  but  the  great  fea- 
tures of  nature,  and  a  few  massive  and  durable  works 

2  of  human  art.     We  might  find  out  Snowdon  and  Wind- 
mere,  the  Cheddar  Cliffs  and  Beachy  Head.     We  might 
find  out  here  and  there  a  Norman  minster,  or  a  castle 
which  witnessed  the  Wars  of  the  Roses ;  but,  with  such 
rare  exceptions,   everything   would    be    strange   to   us. 

3  Many  thousands  of  square   miles,  which  are  now  rich 
corn-land  and  meadow,  intersected  by  green  hedge-rows, 
and  dotted  with  villages  and  pleasant  country  seats,  would 
appear  as  moors  overgrown  with  furze,  or  fens  abandoned 

4  to  wild  ducks.     We  should  see  straggling  huts  built  of 
wood  and  covered  with  thatch  where  we  now  see  manu- 
facturing towns  and  seaports  renowned  to  the  farthest 
ends  of  the  world.     The  capital  itself  would  shrink  to 
dimensions  not  much  exceeding  those  of  its  present  sub- 

5  urb  on  the  south  of  the  Thames.     Not  less  strange  to  us 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  341 

would  be  the  garb  and  manners  of  the  people,  the  furni- 
ture and  the  equipages,  the  interior  of  the  shops  and 
dwellings.  Such  a  change  in  the  state  of  a  nation  seems 
to  be  at  least  as  well  entitled  to  the  notice  of  an  historian 
as  any  change  of  the  dynasty  or  of  the  ministry. 


FEMALE   EDUCATION    IN    ENGLAND    DURING   THE 
LATTER    PART  OF   THE   XVII    CENTURY. 

MAOATTLAY'S  "HISTOBY  OF  ENGLAND." 

We  have  here  a  picture  of  the  low  state  of  female  culture  preva- 
lent in  England,  even  in  fashionable  circles,  during  the  latter  part 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  With  this  intellectual  degeneracy  of 
the  sex,  it  is  refreshing  to  contrast  the  glowing  descriptions  of  Lady 
Jane  Grey  and  Queen  Elizabeth,  their  devotion  to  classical  culture, 
which  have  come  down  to  us  from  the  preceding  century,  even  ad- 
mitting these  descriptions  to  be  somewhat  overdrawn  and  embel- 
lished. 

As  to  the  lady  of  the  manor  and  her  daughters,  their  1 
literary  stores  generally  consisted  of  a  prayer-book  and  a 
receipt-book.  But,  in  truth,  they  lost  little  by  living  in 
rural  seclusion,  for  even  in  the  highest  ranks,  and  in 
those  situations  which  afforded  the  greatest  facilities  for 
mental  improvement,  the  English  women  of  that  genera- 
tion were  decidedly  worse  educated  than  they  have  been 
at  any  other  time  since  the  revival  of  learning.  At  an  2 
earlier  period  they  had  studied  the  masterpieces  of  an- 
cient genius.  In  the  present  day  they  seldom  bestow 
much  attention  on  the  dead  languages ;  but  they  are 
familiar  with  the  tongue  of  Pascal  and  Moliere,  with  the 
tongue  of  Dante  and  Tasso,  with  the  tongue  of  Goethe 


342  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

and  Schiller;  nor  is  there  any  purer  or  more  graceful 
English  than  that  which  accomplished  women  now  speak 
Sand  write.  But,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  the  culture  of  the  female  mind  seems  to  have 
been  almost  entirely  neglected.  If  a  damsel  had  the 
least  smattering  of  literature,  she  was  regarded  as  a 
prodigy.  Ladies  highly  bora,  highly  bred,  and  naturally 
quick-witted,  were  unable  to  write  a  line  in  their  mother- 
tongue  without  solecisms  and  faults  of  spelling,  such  as 
a  charity  girl  would  now  be  ashamed  to  commit.  The 

4  explanation   may  easily  be  found.     Extravagant  licen- 
tiousness, the  natural  effect  of  extravagant  austerity,  was 
now  the  mode,  and  licentiousness  had  produced  its  ordi- 
nary effect — the  moral  and  intellectual  degradation  of 
women.  .  .  .  f. n  such  circumstances,  the  standard  of  fe- 
male attainments  was  necessarily  low,  and  it  was  more 
dangerous  to  be  above  that  standard  than  to  be  beneath 

5  it.     Extreme  ignorance  and  frivolity  were  thought  less 
unbecoming  in  a  lady  than  the  slightest  tincture  of  pedan- 
try.    Of  the  too  celebrated  women  whose  faces  we  still 
admire  on  the  walls  of   Hampton  Court,  few,  indeed, 
were  in  the  habit  of  reading  anything  more  valuable  than 
acrostics,  lampoons,  and  translations  of  the  "  Clelia  "  and 
the  "  Grand  Cyrus." 


ENGLAND    AFTER    THE    NORMAN    CONQUEST.— THE 
GREAT  CHARTER.— RISE  OF  THE  ENGLISH   NATION. 

MAOAULAT'S  "HISTOBY  OF  ENGLAND." 

The  period  intervening  between  the  Norman  Conquest,  A.  D. 
1066,  and  the  recovery  of  the  English  people  from  its  depressing 
effects,  is  here  exhibited  concisely,  and  yet  with  wonderful  clear- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  343 

ness  and  accuracy.  It  has  been  forty  years  since  this  portion  of 
Macaulay's  history  was  composed,  but  with  all  the  additions  to  our 
knowledge  of  the  early  English  periods,  which  critical  research 
has  been  able  to  make  in  our  own  time,  the  substantial  accuracy  of 
Macaulay's  narrative  stands  unim paired/)  The  era  extending  from 
the  Conquest  to  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century  is  rich  in  his- 
toric interest,  and  that  of  the  most  varied  character — political,  eccle- 
siastical, architectural,  literary,  linguistic.  (^For  the  history  of  this 
era,  the  following  works  should  be  carefully  studied :  Freeman's 
"  Norman  Conquest,"  Pearson's  "  England  in  the  Early  and  Middle 
Ages,"  Freeman's  "  Historical  Essays,"  Freeman's  "Life  and  Reign 
of  William  Rufus,"  Stubbs's  "  Constitutional  History  of  England," 
Palgrave's  "  History  of  Normandy  and  England,"  Oliphant's  "Early 
and  Middle  English,"  Lounsbury's  "  English  Language,"  Earle's  "Phi- 
lology of  the  English  Tongue,"  "Encyclopaedia  Britannica,"  ninth 
edition,  vol.  viii,  article  on  the  "  English  Language,"  Morley's  "First 
Sketch  of  English  Literature,"  Ten  Brink's  "  Early  English  Litera- 
ture," Arnold's  "  English  Literature,"  Green's  "  History  of  the  Eng- 
lish People.")  The  development  of  the  language  and  the  literature  is, 
in  the  strictest  sense,  a  part  of  the  history  of  the  people — though 
unfortunately  this  essential  truth  is  ofttimes  disregarded  in  actual 
instruction.  The  era  embraced  in  Macaulay's  review,  here  cited,  is 
the  great  formative  period  in  the  history  of  the  English  speech.  The 
loss  of  Normandy,  the  Magna  Charta,  mark  important  points  in  the 
development  of  the  language,  as  well  as  in  the  political  growth  of 
the  nation.  Freeman's  "Norman  Conquest,"  vol.  v,  chap,  xxv, 
should  be  critically  studied  in  this  connection.  Chaucer,  Wickliffe, 
Langland,  Robert  of  Brunne,  Orm,  Lay  am  on,  are  as  truly  historic 
characters  as  the  Black  Prince,  John  of  Gaunt,  Simon  de  Montfort, 
Stephen  Langton,  Thomas  4  Becket,  or  William  the  Conqueror. 
Literature  and  history  elucidate  and  illustrate  each  other.  No  man 
living  in  the  nineteenth  century  can  form  a  vivid  or  accurate  im- 
pression of  the  inner  life  of  England  in  the  fourteenth  century,  un- 
til he  has  "given  his  days  and  nights  "  to  the  "  Canterbury  Tales  " 
and  "  The  Vision  of  Piers  the  Plowman." 

DURING  the  century  and  a  half  which  followed  the  1 
Norman  Conquest  (A.  D.  1066),  there  is,  to  speak  strictly, 
no  English  history.     The  French  kings  of  England  rose, 


344  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

indeed,  to  an  eminence  which  was  the  wonder  and  dread 
of  all  neighboring  nations.  They  conquered  Ireland. 
They  received  the  homage  of  Scotland.  By  their  valor, 
by  their  policy,  by  their  fortunate  matrimonial  alliances, 
they  became  far  more  powerful  on  the  continent  than 
their  liege  lords,  the  kings  of  France.  Asia,  as  well  as 
Europe,  was  dazzled  by  their  power  and  glory.  Arabian 
chroniclers  recorded  with  unwilling  admiration  the  fall 
of  Acre,  the  defense  of  Joppa,  and  the  victorious  march 
to  Ascalon ;  and  Arabian  mothers  long  awed  their  infants 
to  silence  with  the  name  of  the  lion-hearted  Plantagenet. 

2  At  one  time  it  seemed  that  the  line  of  Hugh  Capet  was 
about  to  end  as  the  Merovingian  and  Carlovingian  lines 
had  ended,  and  that  a  single  great  monarchy  would  spread 
from  the  Orkneys  to  the  Pyrenees.    So  strong  an  associa- 
tion is  established  in  most  minds  between  the  greatness 
of  a  sovereign  and  the  greatness  of  a  nation  which  he 
rules,  that  almost  every  historian  of  England  has  expati- 
ated with  a  sentiment  of  exultation  on  the  power  and 
splendor  of  her  foreign  masters,  and  has  lamented  the 
decline  of  that  power  and   splendor  as  a  calamity  to 
our  country.     This  is,  in  truth,  as  absurd  as  it  would  be 
in  a  Haytian  negro  of  our  time  to  dwell  with  national 
pride  on  the  greatness  of  Louis  XIY,  and  to  speak  of 
Blenheim  and  Ramillies  with  patriotic  regret  and  shame. 

3  The  conqueror  and  his  descendants  to  the  fourth  genera- 
tion were  not  Englishmen ;  most  of  them  were  born  in 
France  ;  their  ordinary  speech  was  French;  almost  every 
high  office  in  their  gift  was  filled  by  a  Frenchman  ;  every 
acquisition  which  they  made  on  the  continent  estranged 
them  more  and  more  from  the  population  of  our  island. 
One  of  the  ablest  among  them,  indeed,  attempted  to  win 
the  hearts  of  his  English  subjects  by  espousing  an  Eng- 
lish princess ;  but,  by  many  of  his  barons,  this  marriage 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  345 

was  regarded  as  a  marriage  between  a  white  planter  and 
a  quadroon  girl  would  now  be  regarded  in  Virginia.  In 
history  he  is  known  by  the  honorable  surname  of  Beau, 
clerc ;  but,  in  his  own  time,  his  own  countrymen  called 
him  by  a  Saxon  nickname,  in  contemptuous  allusion  to 
his  Saxon  connection.  Had  the  Plantagenets,  as  at  one  4 
time  seemed  likely,  succeeded  in  uniting  all  France  un- 
der their  government,  it  is  probable  that  England  would 
never  have  had  an  independent  existence.  Her  princes, 
her  lords,  her  prelates,  would  have  been  men  differing  in 
race  and  language  from  the  artisans  and  the  tillers  of  the 
earth.  The  revenues  of  her  great  proprietors  would  have 
been  spent  in  festivities  and  diversions  on  the  banks  of 
the  Seine.  The  noble  language  of  Milton  and  Burke 
would  have  remained  a  rustic  dialect,  without  a  literature, 
a  fixed  grammar,  or  a  fixed  orthography,  and  would  have 
been  contemptuously  abandoned  to  the  use  of  boors.  No 
man  of  English  extraction  would  have  risen  to  eminence, 
except  by  becoming  in  speech  and  habits  a  Frenchman. 
England  owes  her  escape  from  such  calamities  to  an  event  5 
which  her  historians  have  generally  represented  as  disas- 
trous. Her  interest  was  so  directly  opposed  to  the  interest 
of  her  rulers  that  she  had  no  hope  but  in  their  errors  and 
misfortunes.  The  talents  and  even  the  virtues  of  her  six 
first  French  kings  were  a  curse  to  her.  The  follies  and 
vices  of  the  seventh  were  her  salvation.  Had  John  in- 
herited the  great  qualities  of  his  father,  of  Henry  Beau- 
clerc,  or  of  the  Conqueror,  nay,  had  he  even  possessed 
the  martial  courage  of  Stephen  or  of  Richard,  and  had 
the  King  of  France  at  the  same  time  been  as  incapable 
as  all  the  other  successors  of  Hugh  Capet  had  been, 
the  house  of  Plantagenet  must  have  risen  to  unrivaled 
ascendency  in  Europe.  But  just  at  this  conjuncture,  6 
France,  for  the  first  time  since  the  death  of  Charle- 


346  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

magne,  was  governed  by  a  prince  of  great  firmness  and 
ability.  On  the  other  hand,  England,  which,  since  the 
battle  of  Hastings,  had  been  ruled  generally  by  wise 
statesmen,  always  by  brave  soldiers,  fell  under  the  do- 
minion of  a  trifier  and  a  coward.  From  that  moment 
her  prospects  brightened.  John  was  driven  from  Nor- 
mandy. The  Norman  nobles  were  compelled  to  make 
their  election  between  the  island  and  the  continent.  Shut 
up  by  the  sea  with  the  people  whom  they  had  hitherto 
oppressed  and  despised,  they  gradually  came  to  regard 
England  as  their  country,  and  the  English  as  their  coun- 
Ttrymen.  The  two  races,  so  long  hostile,  soon  found  that 
they  had  common  interests  and  common  enemies.  Both 
were  alike  aggrieved  by  the  tyranny  of  a  bad  king.  Both 
were  alike  indignant  at  the  favor  shown  by  the  court  to 
the  natives  of  Poitou  and  Aquitaine.  The  great-grand- 
sons of  those  who  had  fought  under  William  and  the 
great-grandsons  of  those  who  had  fought  under  Harold 
began  to  draw  near  to  each  other  in  friendship,  and  the 
first  pledge  of  their  reconciliation  was  the  Great  Charter, 
won  by  their  united  exertions,  and  framed  for  their  com- 
mon benefit. 


ANCIENT  AND  MODERN   HISTORY.— HISTORIC  FUNC- 
TIONS OF  ANCIENT   NATIONS. 

BREWER'S    "STUDIES   IN   ENGLISH   HISTORY   AND   ENGLISH   LITEB- 

ATUBK." 

Mr.  Brewer  here  sets  forth  the  historic  function  of  each  of  the 
leading  nations  of  antiquity,  its  part  in  the  economy  of  history,  the 
great  idea  that  it  was  to  develop :  the  Hebrew,  the  idea  of  mono- 
theism, the  oneness  of  God,  to  whom  the  Hebrew  nation  stood  in 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  347 

a  peculiar  relation  by  virtue  of  a  special  covenant,  having  been 
segregated  from  all  other  races  as  the  chosen  people  of  God,  unto 
whom  were  committed  his  oracles;  the  Assyrian  and  the  Persian, 
the  idea  of  absolute  power,  centered  in  the  sovereign ;  the  Greek, 
the  esthetic  idea,  literature,  art  developed  to  the  highest  measure 
of  its  potentialities,  as  well  as  the  idea  of  representative  govern- 
ment, pure  democracy,  a  government  of  law  and  order;  the  Roman, 
the  idea  of  reverence  for  lawful  authority,  subordination,  organiza- 
tion, municipality.  The  following  works  may  be  consulted  with 
great  advantage:  Rawlinson's  k'Five  Ancient  Monarchies,"  Ewald's 
"History  of  Israel,"  Stanley's  " Lectures  on  the  Jewish  Church," 
Grote's  "History  of  Greece,"  Niebuhr's  "Roman  History,"  Momm- 
sen's  "History  of  Rome,"  Arnold's  "History  of  Rome,"  Gibbon's 
"Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,"  Bryce's  "Holy  Roman 
Empire."  Guizot's  "History  of  Civilization  in  Europe"  has  some 
fine  remarks  upon  the  distracting  complexity  of  modern  history  as 
compared  with  the  simplicity,  the  predominance  of  a  few  leading 
elements,  that  characterized  the  civilization  of  ancient  times. 

HISTORY  is  divided  into  two  great  portions,  ancient  1 
and  modern.  Ancient  history  has  no  other  difficulties 
than  those  which  are  presented  by  its  remoteness  from 
present  times,  and  our  consequent  inability  of  adequately 
representing  to  ourselves  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of 
people  living  in  a  state  so  very  different  from  our  own. 
Christianity,  new  races,  a  new  world,  great  inventions, 
have  been  molding  for  many  centuries  all  our  notions, 
pursuits,  manners,  speculations.  It  is  hard  for  us  to 
divest  ourselves  of  these  influences  and  to  go  back  to  a 
simpler  and  less  complex  period,  when  one  division  only 
of  the  globe,  one  race,  or  one  nation,  only  challenges  con- 
sideration. 

But  ancient  history  has  this  advantage  over  modern,  2 
that  it  does  not  distract  us  with  a  multiplicity  of  details, 
or  bring  at  the  same  time  a  number  of  different  nations 
and  actors  on   the  stage,  each  of  whom  is  demanding 
and  distracting  our  attention,  each  of  whom  has  some- 


348  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

thing  to  say  which  must  not  be  disregarded.  On  the 
contrary,  ancient  history  goes  on  in  one  simple  and  uni- 
form tenor,  either  presenting  to  our  view  one  country, 
one  people,  one  literature,  exclusively  and  successively, 
or,  if  it  brings  forward  other  nations  at  the  same  tiini1, 
it  is  only  in  reference  and  in  subordination  to  a  single 

3  people  which  is  predominant  at  the  time.     In  the  history 
of  the  Hebrews  we  hear  of  Egypt,  in  the  history  of 
Greece  of  the  Persians,  but,  instead  of  confusing  our 
views,  these  occasional  glimpses  assist  in  bringing  out 
more  clearly  the  condition  of  the  chosen  nations  with 
whom  they  are  brought  into  connection.     Thus  ancient 
history  has  a  unity  in  it  denied  apparently  to  modern 
history.     It  requires  no  arbitrary  division  of  our  own 
invention,  we  have  but  to  follow  the  law  thus  clearly 

4  marked  out,  and  consider  each  epoch  successively.     So 
ancient   history  falls  into  a  series  of  easy  and  natural 
divisions.     First  the  Hebrew,  then  the  Greek,  and  then 
the  Roman ;  and  each  of  these  people,  though  engn 

in  numerous  wars,  exposed  to  various  temptations,  and 
exemplifying  a  vast  diversity  of  actions  in  their  career, 
have  in  them  a  unity  of  character,  are  penetrated  by  one 
strong  and  predominant  principle  of  action,  which  serves 
as  a  light — a  clear  and  steady  one — to  interpret  the  most 
obscure  passages  in  their  history. 

5  Take  the  Hebrew,  for  instance,  with  which  we  are 
all  familiar.     Here  we  have  one  people,  with  whom  is 
connected  the  earliest  records  of  the  world  ;  there  is  but 
one  book  in  which  their  history  is  contained,  and  in  it 
we  are  made  to  feel  how  strong  is  that  unity  of  the  Jew- 
ish  people,  and  upon  what  truth  that  unity  is  based. 
Now  what  is  that  book  ?     We  call  it  the  Bible— that  is, 
the  book  of  all  nations,  as  it  is ;  but  we  call  it  also  a  Rev- 
elation, the  Word  of  God.     And  so  it  is.     But  you  will 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  349 

also  remember  that  it  is  the  book  which  contains  the 
national  annals  of  the  Jews,  that  is,  of  "  God's  people." 
But  it  is  not  less  God's  Word,  not  less  His  revelation  of 
himself  to  them,  as  the  Jews,  as  the  nation.  Whatever  6 
else  this  Jewish  history  may  contain,  it  contains  these 
facts — these  which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  their  national 
life.  First,  that  God  was  revealing  Himself  to  them 
more  clearly  than  He  did  to  any  other  people ;  that  that 
revelation  brought  them  nearer  to  Him  than  any  other 
people ;  that  it  made  Him  the  Kuler  of  the  nation,  and 
them  His  people,  in  a  sense  such  as  no  others  enjoyed ; 
and  that  on  the  recognition  of  this  truth,  that  they  were 
His  people — nation  and  rulers,  prophets  and  workmen — 
their  happiness  and  their  welfare  as  a  nation  depended. 
They  might  forget  that  truth,  and  they  did,  over  and  7 
over  again.  The  people  might  think  that  they  had  a 
right  to  take  their  own  way  without  consulting  His  will. 
The  prophet  might  prophesy  in  his  own  name,  and  turn 
his  gifts  to  his  own  interest  and  aggrandizement;  the 
king  might  rule  as  of  his  own  authority,  forgetting  whose 
minister  he  was.  But  they  were  made  to  feel  the  conse- 
quences of  these  transgressions,  not  only  in  themselves 
but  in  the  sufferings  and  distractions  which  they  entailed 
upon  their  nation.  This,  then,  is  the  principle  of  the  8 
Jewish  life,  whatever  else  may  be — individual  and  na- 
tional— that  the  people  are  in  covenant  with  God.  He 
is  their  ruler,  they  are  his  servants.  I  have  not  time  to 
extend  this  to  all  its  various  ramifications ;  nor  yet  to 
show  you  how  it  must  never  be  forgotten  in  interpreting 
the  history  of  this  people.  Let  me  show  you  in  passing 
how  it  throws  light  on  the  history  of  those  nations  with 
whom  this  people  are  brought  into  connection,  and  with 
whom  they  have  been  of  late  not  wisely  confounded.  Two 
of  these  are  the  Assyrian  and  Egyptian,  for  whom,  as 


S50  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

you  know,  modern  history  has  done  so  much,  and  of 
whom  such  wonderful  records  are  preserved  in  the  Brit- 
9ish  Museum.  You  have  seen  these  records.  What  are 
they  ?  Winged  bulls  and  lions,  memorials  of  conquest, 
types  of  the  power  of  the  Great  King.  Nebuchadnezzar 
brings  their  meaning  home  to  us :  the  man  whose  pride 
was  exalted,  who  set  himself  up  above  the  stars  of  heaven. 
In  him  are  united  the  temporal  and  spiritual  authority,  a 
danger  into  which  the  East  is  constantly  falling.  The 
Egyptian,  on  the  other  hand,  is  ruled  by  his  priests ;  he 
deals  in  magic,  and  uses  the  mysterious  powers  of  nature 
to  secure  his  authority  over  the  people.  In  one,  the  ruler, 
in  the  other,  the  priest,  are  forgetting  the  Jewish  princi- 
ple that  they  are  God's  ministers,  and  that  their  gifts 
are  to  be  exercised  for  Him.  Each  found  his  representa- 
tive in  the  Jewish  nation ;  and  each,  we  know  too  well, 
led  that  people  into  their  own  peculiar  temptation.  We 

10  pass  to  the  next  people  of  the  old  world — these  are  the 
Greeks.     They  are  in  many  respects  the  very  opposites 
of  the  Jews :  the  Jew  permitted  no  representations  to  be 
made  of  the  unseen  God — the  Greek  delighted  in  them. 
Everywhere  he  multiplied  these  representations,  every- 
where he  tried  to  reduce  to  sight  spiritual  things  by 
shadowing  them  forth  in  the  likeness  of  men.     Nay,  the 
more  Greek  he  was  the  more  he  essayed  to  do  this.     If 
he  thought  of  wisdom,  it  was  under  the  emblem  of  Mi- 
nerva ;   if  of  strength,  Hercules ;   if  of  abstract  beauty, 
Venus ;  if  of  empire,  Jupiter ;  if  of  light  and  inspiration, 

11  Apollo.     Of  the  mysteries  of  nature  in  which  the  Egyp- 
tian delighted  he  thought  nothing,  or  only  so  far  as  they 
related  to  mysteries  in  himself.     Man  and  the  powers  of 
man,  man  as  the  master  over  matter  and  the  ruler  of  the 
world,  were  the  objects  of  the  deepest  thought  and  specu- 
lation to  the  Greek.     Whatever  fell  within  the  limits 


HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

of  this  inquiry  he  pursued  with  increasing  avidity :  his 
government,  his  institutions,  his  philosophy,  his  poetry, 
had  this  for  their  object.  Every  problem  which  could 
concern  the  soul  or  the  body,  or  their  connection,  or  their 
faculties,  or  their  habits,  or  the  exercise  of  their  several 
powers,  never  came  amiss  to  him.  No  wonder  that  the  12 
Greek  magnified  the  courage,  the  strength,  the  wisdom 
of  man ;  that  he  claimed  for  him  a  distinction  from  brute 
matter  around  him — a  life  of  his  own  and  a  personality 
— as  the  Jew  was  witnessing  to  the  nations  that  God 
was  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  invisible  powers 
of  Nature.  Though  different,  both  were  asserting  a 
necessary  truth ;  and  the  evils  and  idolatry  of  both  arose 
not  from  the  truths  which  they  held,  but  from  the  false- 
hoods which  they  mixed  with  those  truths.  To  the  13 
Greek  we  still  go  for  instruction  in  all  that  belongs  to 
the  dignity,  the  powers,  the  beauty  of  man,  for  examples 
of  brave  deeds,  for  heroical  recitals,  for  noble  struggles 
against  tyranny  in  all  forms,  whether  of  brute  force,  or 
ignorance,  or  pain,  or,  as  he  called  it,  destiny.  The  great 
enemy  to  the  Greek  is  the  Persian,  as  the  Egyptian  was 
to  the  Jew ;  and  yet  as  there  was  a  most  extraordinary 
attraction  of  the  Egyptian  to  the  Jew,  so  was  there  of  the 
Greek  to  the  Persian.  The  Greek  was  naturally  tempted 
to  adopt  Persian  manners  and  customs,  the  Persian  would 
offer  every  kind  of  temptation  to  induce  the  Greek  to 
settle  in  his  country.  There  were,  also,  opposite  as  they  14 
might  appear  to  each  other,  points  of  resemblance  be- 
tween them  which  render  this  mutual  attraction  and  re- 
pulsion the  more  remarkable.  The  Persians  were  an 
heroic  people  like  the  Greeks.  They  thought  much  of 
their  ancient  heroes,  Cyrus,  Darius,  Xerxes.  Like  the 
Greeks,  they  hated  a  sacerdotal  caste,  who  used  their 
influence  to  blind  and  mislead  the  people.  Like  the 


392  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

Greeks  also,  the  sun  was  the  chief  object  of  their  national 

15  worship.     But  to  the  Persian,  his  god,  though  a  power 
infinitely  removed  from  himself,  and  the  light  of  the 
world,  was  a  light  and  no  more.     He  had  none  of  the 
attributes  of  a  god  in  the  sense  of  the  Greeks ;  he  had 
no  personality.     He  was  not,  it  is  true,  made  with  hands, 
and  he  dwelt  not  in  temples ;  but  neither  did  he  draw 
near  to  his  worshiper,  nor  did  his  worshiper  feel  that 
he  could  draw  near  tc  him.     There  was  no  feeling  that 
he  could  sympathize  with  humanity ;  that  he  could  or 

16  would  make  a  covenant  with  his  people.     Thus  not  only 
the  evil  powers  of  the  world  and  the   instruments  of 
darkness  were  to  the  Persian  more  definite,  comprehensi- 
ble, and  formidable ;  but  his  extreme  reverence  for  his 
king  as  the  sole  representative  of  all  authority,  as  the 
ruler,  the  sole  dispenser  of  justice  and  judgment,  con- 
verted the  Persian  into  the  mere  tool  of  despotism.     He 
is  the  willing  instrument  of  conquest,  the  enemy  of  na- 
tional independence,  the  champion  of  a  universal  mon- 

ITarchy,  of  which  the  Great  King  is  the  head.  To  him  the 
Greek,  striving  for  individual  independence,  never  for- 
getting his  native  land,  never  blending  with  the  people 
among  whom  he  settles,  is  as  much  a  mystery  as  his  own 
reverence  for  kingly  authority  and  his  feeling  that  he  has 
no  existence  independent  of  his  king  is  to  the  Greek.  .  .  . 

18  We  have  now  reached  the  history  of  another  people  more 
powerful  than  any  we  have  yet  seen — I  refer  to  the  Ro- 
mans. They  too  are  a  religious  people,  they  have  their 
auguries,  their  priesthood,  and,  like  the  Hebrews,  a  belief 
in  the  invisible  God,  who  has  been  the  founder  and  is  the 
father  of  their  nation.  They  too  are  strongly  impressed 
with  a  sense  of  their  own  power,  and  of  the  value  which 
it  possesses  in  bringing  the  nations  of  the  earth  into  order 
and  regularity.  They  too,  like  the  Greek,  set  a  high 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  3S3 

value  on  the  freedom  of  man  ;  and  like  the  Persian,  they 
feel  that  there  is  some  paramount  and  paternal  authority, 
superior  to  all  the  rest,  on  the  acknowledgment  of  which 
the  strength  and  unity  of  their  nation  depend.  The  his- 19 
tory  of  the  Koman  people  tells  us  of  the  virtues  of  fathers 
and  mothers,  the  obedience  of  sons,  the  chastity  of  daugh- 
ters. The  founder  of  their  nation  is  the  dutiful  ^Eneas 
who  saves  his  father  from  the  flames  of  Troy.  Is  he  in 
doubt  what  to  do,  he  flies  for  advice  to  his  father ;  after 
death  it  is  his  father's  spirit  that  guides,  it  is  his  father's 
household  gods  who  extend  their  protection  and  guardian- 
ship to  the  son.  It  is  the  parental  authority  that  is  shad- 
owed forth  in  all  the  forms  of  the  Koman  government ; 
it  is  the  sense  of  reverence  and  obedience  which  the  son 
owes  to  the  father,  that  is  at  the  root  of  all  their  disci- 
pline, their  civil  order  and  subordination.  It  is  this  which  20 
gives  a  dignity  and  intensity  to  their  civil  disputes,  and 
to  the  contentions  of  senators  and  plebeians.  We  feel 
that  they  are  not  mere  ordinary  broils,  like  other  popular 
tumults,  but  that  the  deepest  principles  are  involved  in 
them  ;  and  that  out  of  such  confusion  they  are  to  come 
forth  stronger  and  more  united  than  before.  Wherever 
the  Roman  sets  his  foot  he  rouses  up  his  own  sense  of 
law  and  social  order  among  the  nations,  even  though  he 
can  not  raise  up  among  them  a  true  feeling  for  those  prin- 
ciples which  had  led  himself  to  a  true  appreciation  and 
knowledge  of  self-government.  Whatever  the  nations,  21 
whatever  their  condition,  savage  or  civilized,  no  sooner 
does  the  Roman  appear  among  them  than  they  too  are 
led  to  feel  a  value  for  right  and  order,  as  they  had  never 
felt  before.  Permanent  forms  of  government  start  up, 
towns  are  built,  roads  are  made,  people  are  taught  to  live 
together,  to  co-operate,  to  depend  upon  one  another. 
They  were  a  stern  and  severe  people,  it  is  true ;  they  22 


354  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

were  often  guilty  of  great  acts  of  tyranny  and  oppression 
in  carrying  these  lessons  to  the  nations  round  about  them  ; 
but  we  must  not  for  that  overlook  the  great  good  that 
they  did ;  we  must  not  forget  to  recognize  the  fact  that, 
with  all  his  failings,  the  Roman,  in  his  manliness,  in  his 
love,  of  right,  in  his  unswerving  adherence  to  justice,  in 
his  patriotism,  in  his  regard  for  the  laws  of  his  country, 
23  has  been  an  example  to  all  the  world.  No  nation  has 
done  more  to  imprint  the  names  of  its  great  citizens  on 
our  memories  and  to  make  them  familiar  in  our  mouths 
as  household  words.  We  may  know  little  of  the  per- 
sonal histories  of  Decius,  of  Regulus,  of  Brutus,  or  of 
Cato,  but  so  long  as  self-devotion,  self-denial,  patriotism, 
and  unconquerable  rectitude  are  admired,  so  long  will 
these  names  be  remembered,  as  the  brightest  examples  of 
these  virtues. 


ANCIENT    LONDON. 

BREWER'S  "STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH  HISTORY  AND  ENGLISH 
LITERATURE." 

Towns,  as  was  pointed  out  by  the  late  Mr.  J.  R.  Green,  have  a 
sort  of  historic  personality  that  renders  their  origin  and  growth  pe- 
culiarly attractive.  What  a  world  of  history  centers  in  and  around 
London !  Westminster  Abbey  and  the  Tower  are  inexhaustible  in 
their  rich  and  varied  interest.  Let  the  student  consult  Loftie's 
"  History  of  London,"  Baedeker's  "  London  and  its  Environs,"  Dean 
Stanley's  "Memorials  of  Westminster  Abbey"  (revised  edition),  and 
Freeman's  "  Norman  Conquest,"  on  the  foundation  of  Westminster 
Abbey. 

1  To  London,  under  the  name  of  Trinovant,  Caesar  is 
supposed  to  allude :  "  The  strongest  city  in  those  parts  " ; 
that  is,  in  Middlesex.  It  was  governed  by  a  petty  king, 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  355 

who  had  slain  his  predecessor.  The  whole  island  was 
divided  under  such  kings  and  chieftains ;  four  of  them 
ruled  in  Kent  alone.  In  fact,  England  was  then  very 
much  like  what  Ireland  was  some  centuries  after — divided 
between  kings  and  Druids,  chieftains  and  priests,  always 
at  war  with  one  other,  carrying  off  each  other's  cattle 
and  wives,  burning,  or  selling,  or  ransoming  their  prison- 
ers. One  would  have  called  it  a  barbarous  life,  and  fit 
only  for  barbarians.  Of  this  Trinovant,  which  fantastic  2 
Celtic  antiquaries  in  after-ages  called  Troynovant,  or 
New  Troy,  and,  fashioning  a  history  to  suit  their  inven- 
tion, attributed  the  foundation  of  it  to  ^Eneas  and  the- 
Trojans,  we  get  only  very  scattered  and  unsatisfactory 
notices.  We  leave  it,  therefore,  under  that  name,  and 
follow  it  under  its  more  modern  name  of  London.  Un- 
der that  name  it  was  not  known  to  Caesar ;  but  it  is  men- 
tioned by  Tacitus,  whose  father-in-law,  Julius  Agricola, 
was  the  Roman  governor  here  in  the  time  of  Domitian. 
As  early  as  the  middle  of  the  first  century  of  the  Chris-  3 
tian  era,  in  the  days  of  Nero,  the  historian  speaks  of  Lon- 
don "  as  a  wealthy  and  important  town  for  the  multitude 
of  its  wares  and  traders."  After  a  short  and  sharp  strug- 
gle with  its  conquerors,  the  town  must  have  shot  forward 
with  wonderful  rapidity.  At  Caesar's  landing  (B.  c.  55) 
it  was  no  more  than  a  barbarian  inclosure  in  a  thick 
wood,  defended  by  swamps,  the  Thames  overflowing  its 
banks,  the  rivers  and  brooks  standing  in  heavy  pools  all 
about  the  low  grounds.  A  century  after,  it  had  risen  to 
so  much  importance  as  to  be  worthy  the  care  and  notice 
of  the  Romans.  How  it  got  the  name  of  London,  or 
Londinium,  antiquaries  are  not  agreed.  Whatever  may  4 
be  the  origin  of  the  name,  you  must  dissever  it  from  all 
the  associations  connected  with  the  modern  name  of  Lon- 
don. In  appearance  and  extent,  and  in  the  appearance 
24 


356  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

of  all  the  surrounding  country,  it  would  be  impossible  to 
conceive  a  greater  contrast  than  between  the  early  and 
modern  London.  A  dense  forest  of  many  miles  in  extent 
reached  to  the  very  walls  of  the  old  town,  and  covered  it 
in  on  all  sides,  except  on  the  east  and  the  river  quarters. 

5  The  Thames,  not  then  so  deep  and  so  narrow  as  it  is  now, 
spread  itself  out  into  a  broad  expanse  of  waters.     The  vast 
banks  of  the  Thames,  artificially  constructed  by  the  Ro- 
mans, with  great  cost  and  labor,  confined  the  river  within 
a  narrower  channel,  scoured  by  the  ebbing  and  flowing  of 
the  tide,  continually  deepened  by  dredging  and  ballast- 
heaving.     This  early  London,  though  built  on  the  rising 
ground,  did  not  reach  to  the  water  originally.     It  stood 
well  away  from  it,  though  the  river  then  rising  higher 
than  it  does  now,  and  the  soil  on  which  the  city  stands 
being  at  least  twenty  feet  lower,  brought  up  the  river  at 

6  high  tide  very  near  to  the  city  walls.  ...  St.  Paul's 
stood  on  an  eminence  outside  the  original  city,  on  a  sand- 
hill caused  by  the  winds  and  the  tides.     The  heart  of  the 
city  was  the  old  London  stone,  or  near  it.     The  east  side, 
which  by  nature  was  less  strong  than  any  other,  was  for- 
tified by  the  Romans  by  the  Tower,  which  then  stood  out- 
side the  city,  but  soon  rapidly  joined  it.     The  natives, 
trading  with  the  garrison,  gathering  around  it  for  protec- 
tion and  commerce,  would  settle  in  the  district,  as  they 
did  in  other  cities,  and  in  case  of  danger  would  make  no 
difficulty  of  abandoning  their  huts  and  retiring  into  the 
city.     Of  course  I  do  not  mean  the  present  Tower,  but  a 

7 fortress  which  stood  on  the  same  site.  I  have  stated  that 
the  present  St.  Paul's  stands  outside  the  old  city.  I  will 
now  say  why.  It  was  once  thought  that  this  was  the  site 
of  a  temple  built  in  pagan  times  to  the  goddess  Diana. 
"  Diana,"  says  Fuller,  "  was  most  especially  reverenced, 
Britain  being  then  all  a  forest,  where  hunting  was  not  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  357 

recreation  but  the  calling,  and  venison  not  the  dainties 
but  the  diet  of  the  common  people.  There  is  a  place 
near  St.  Paul's,  in  London,  called  in  old  records  '  Diana's 
Chamber,'  where,  in  the  days  of  King  Edward  I,  thou- 
sands of  the  heads  of  oxen  were  digged  up,  whereat  the 
ignorant  wondered  whilst  the  learned  well  understood 
them  to  be  the  proper  sacrifices  to  Diana,  whose  great 
temple  was  built  thereabout.  This  rendereth  their  con- 
ceit not  altogether  unlikely,  who  will  have  London  so 
called  from  Llan-Dian,  which  signifieth  in  British  '  the 
temple  of  Diana.' "  Unfortunately  for  this  conjecture,  8 
which  was  long  a  favorite  with  London  antiquarians, 
when  the  foundations  were  dug  for  the  present  St.  Paul's 
by  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  no  bullocks'  heads,  and  no  re- 
mains of  such  cattle  were  found ;  but  remains  of  far 
more  interest  than  these.  St.  Paul's  churchy  ard,  though 
greatly  shorn  of  its  original  proportions,  and  though  no 
longer  used  as  a  receptacle  for  the  dead,  still  testifies  by 
its  name  to  the  older  usages  to  which  it  was  applied,  from 
times  long  before  the  Saxon  or  Roman  set  foot  upon  this 
island.  This  was  the  great  burial-place  of  the  forgotten  9 
dead.  Who  knows,  as  he  treads  the  sounding  pavement, 
on  what  dust  below  he  is  trampling ;  what  king's  bones 
are  moldering  there  ;  what  hearts  are  there  gone  to  ache 
no  more ;  of  chieftains  who  fought  for  rule  against  their 
neighbor  chiefs ;  of  priests  who  pondered  over  the  mys- 
teries of  the  sacred  oak,  or  people  that  saw  with  wonder 
Caesar's  arms  first  glittering  on  the  Thames  ?  Here  Sir  10 
Christopher  Wren  found  a  semicircular  chancel  of  Ro- 
man work,  showing  that  the  first  church  had  been  the 
work  of  Roman  colonists.  Here  on  the  north  side  were 
innumerable  remains  of  the  dead  from  British  and  Ro- 
man times.  Layer  upon  layer,  there  they  lay  ;  there  they 
lie  still,  the  successive  generations  which  possessed  the 


358  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

land:  back  and  back,  from  Stuarts,  Tudors,  Plantage- 
nets,  Normans,  Saxons — still  further  back  to  Romans  and 
Romanized  Britons — layer  upon  layer,  race  upon  race. 
Here  were  Saxons  securely  entombed  between  sarcophagi 
formed  of  great  upright  and  horizontal  flags,  imbedded 

11  in  cavities  lined  with  chalk-stones.  Here  were  Britons 
and  Romans  mixed,  the  ivory  and  boxwood  pins  which 
had  fastened  their  shrouds  still  remaining  to  tell  what 
these  dead  bones  once  had  been  ;  and,  lowest  of  all,  eight- 
een feet  below  the  surface,  were  fragments  of  Roman 
urns  and  British  funeral  remains,  testifying  to  a  still 
earlier  age  when  Roman  and  Celt  alike  worshiped  the 
gods  of  their  own  hands  or  their  own  imaginations; 
when  wolves  and  foxes  prowled  around  the  grim  inclos- 
ure,  or,  hunger-starved,  swept  down  from  the  neighbor- 
ing forest  to  glut  themselves  on  the  remains  of  slaugh- 

IStered  victims  or  the  fresh  corpses.  The  fact  of  the  Ro- 
mans not  burying  their  dead  within  the  city  walls  proper, 
and  for  various  reasons  introducing  the  same  restrictions 
into  the  countries  which  they  conquered,  is  a  strong  rea- 
son for  supposing  that  the  hill  on  which  St.  Paul's  now 
stands  was  not  inclosed  within  the  walls  of  the  original 
city. 


THE    HOLY    ROMAN    EMPIRE. 

This  selection,  as  well  as  the  succeeding  one,  is  from  Bryce's 
"Holy  Roman  Empire,"  perhaps  the  most  philosophic  discussion  of 
any  historical  question  that  has  appeared  in  our  day.  The  theory 
of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  that  splendid  vision  of  the  mediaeval 
age,  has  been  already  explained.  It  was  a  brilliant  conception,  and 
a  proper  understanding  of  its  design,  as  well  as  its  effects,  is  indis- 
pensable to  an  accurate  comprehension  of  mediaeval  history.  Mr. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  359 

Freeman's  essay  on  the  same  subject  should  be  read  in  connection 
with  Mr.  Bryce's  monograph. 

OF  those  who,  in  August,  1 806,  read  in  the  English  1 
newspapers  that  the  Emperor  Francis  II  had  announced 
to  the  Diet  his  resignation  of  the  imperial  crown,  there 
were  probably  few  who  reflected  that  the  oldest  political 
institution  in  the  world  had  come  to  an  end.  Yet  it  was 
so.  The  empire  which  a  note  issued  by  a  diplomatist  on 
the  banks  of  the  Danube  extinguished,  was  the  same 
which  the  crafty  nephew  of  Julius  had  won  for  himself, 
against  the  powers  of  the  East,  beneath  the  cliffs  of 
Actium ;  and  which  had  preserved  almost  unaltered, 
through  eighteen  centuries  of  time,  and  through  the 
greatest  changes  in  extent,  in  power,  in  character,  a  title 
and  pretensions  from  which  all  meaning  had  long  since 
departed.  Nothing  else  so  directly  linked  the  old  world  2 
to  the  new — nothing  else  displayed  so  many  strange  con- 
trasts of  the  present  and  the  past,  and  summed  up  in 
those  contrasts  so  much  of  European  history.  From  the 
days  of  Constantine  till  far  down  into  the  Middle  Ages 
it  was,  conjointly  with  the  Papacy,  the  recognized  center 
and  head  of  Christendom,  exercising  over  the  minds  of 
men  an  influence  such  as  its  material  strength  could  never 
have  commanded.  It  is  of  this  influence  and  of  the 
causes  that  gave  it  power,  rather  than  of  the  external 
history  of  the  empire,  that  the  following  pages  are  de- 
signed to  treat.  That  history  is  indeed  full  of  interest  3 
and  brilliancy,  of  grand  characters  and  striking  situations. 
But  it  is  a  subject  too  vast  for  any  single  canvas.  With- 
out a  minuteness  of  detail  sufficient  to  make  its  scenes 
dramatic  and  give  us  a  lively  sympathy  with  the  actors,  a 
narrative  history  can  have  little  value  and  still  less  charm. 
But  to  trace  with  any  minuteness  the  career  of  the  em- 
pire would  be  to  write  the  history  of  Christendom  from 


360  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

the  fifth  century  to  the  twelfth,  of  Germany  and  Italy 
from  the  twelfth  to  the  nineteenth ;  while  even  a  nar- 
rative of  more  restricted  scope,  which  should  attempt  to 
disengage  from  a  general  account  of  the  affairs  of  those 
countries  the  events  that  properly  belong  to  imperial 
history,  could  hardly  be  compressed  within  reasonable 

4  limits.  It  is  therefore  better,  declining  so  great  a  task, 
to  attempt  one  simpler  and  more  practicable,  though 
not  necessarily  inferior  in  interest;  to  speak  less  of 
events  than  of  principles,  and  endeavor  to  describe  the 
empire  not  as  a  state  but  as  an  institution,  an  insti- 
tution created  by  and  embodying  a  wonderful  system  of 
ideas.  In  pursuance  of  such  a  plan,  the  forms  which  the 
empire  took  in  the  several  stages  of  its  growth  and  de- 
cline must  be  briefly  sketched.  The  characters  and  acts 
of  the  great  men  who  founded,  guided,  and  overthrew 

Sit  must  from  time  to  time  be  touched  upon.  But  the 
chief  aim  of  the  treatise  will  be  to  dwell  more  fully  on 
the  inner  nature  of  the  empire  as  the  most  signal  in- 
stance of  the  fusion  of  Kornan  and  Teutonic  elements  in 
modern  civilization ;  to  show  how  such  a  combination 
was  possible ;  how  Charles  and  Otto  were  led  to  revive 
the  imperial  title  in  the  "West ;  how  far,  during  the 
reigns  of  their  successors,  it  preserved  the  memory  of  its 
origin,  and  influenced  the  European  commonwealth  of 

6  nations.  Strictly  speaking,  it  is  from  the  year  800  A.  D., 
when  a  king  of  the  Franks  was  crowned  emperor  of  the 
Romans  by  Pope  Leo  III,  that  the  beginning  of  the 
Holy  Roman  Empire  must  be  dated.  But  in  history 
there  is  nothing  isolated,  and,  just  as  to  explain  a  modern 
act  of  Parliament  or  a  modern  conveyance  of  lands,  we 
must  go  back  to  the  feudal  customs  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, so  among  the  institutions  of  the  Middle  Ages  there 
is  scarcely  one  which  can  be  understood  until  it  is  traced 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  361 

np  either  to  classical  or  to  primitive  Teutonic  antiquity. 
Such  a  mode  of  inquiry  is  most  of  all  needful  in  the  case 
of  the  Holy  Empire,  itself  no  more  than  a  tradition,  a 
fancied  revival  of  departed  glories.  And  thus,  in  order? 
to  make  it  clear  out  of  what  elements  the  imperial  system 
was  formed,  we  might  be  required  to  scrutinize  the  an- 
tiquities of  the  Christian  Church  ;  to  survey  the  constitu- 
tion of  Rome  in  the  days  when  Rome  "was  no  more  than 
the  first  of  the  Latin  cities ;  nay,  to  travel  back  yet 
further  to  that  Jewish  theocratic  policy  whose  influence 
on  the  minds  of  the  mediaeval  priesthood  was  necessa- 
rily so  profound.  Practically,  however,  it  may  suffice  to 
begin  by  glancing  at  the  condition  of  the  Roman  world 
in  the  third  and  fourth  centuries  of  the  Christian  era. 
We  shall  then  see  the  old  empire  with  its  scheme  of  ab-  8 
solutism  fully  matured ;  we  shall  mark  how  the  new  re- 
ligion, rising  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  power,  ends  by 
embracing  and  transforming  it;  and  we  shall  be  in  a 
position  to  understand  what  impression  the  whole  huge 
fabric  of  secular  and  ecclesiastical  government  which 
Roman  and  Christian  had  piled  up  made  upon  the  bar- 
barian tribes  who  pressed  into  the  charmed  circle  of  the 
ancient  civilization. 


THE    HOLY   ROMAN   EMPIRE—ITS  INFLUENCE  UPON 
HISTORY. 

This  extract  is  also  from  Bryce's  admirable  work.  How  inex- 
haustible the  influence  of  Rome!  It  is  still  active  as  one  of  the  de- 
termining elements  in  our  modern  historical  life.  Its  laws,  its  lan- 
guage, have  entered  into  the  very  heart  of  Christian  civilization. 
All  history  centers  around  it,  nearly  all  the  distinctive  elements  of 
our  intellectual  and  political  life  have  descended  from  it,  or  have 


362  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

passed  through  it,  in  the  process  of  transmission.  See  Freeman's 
"Essays,"  Niebuhr's  "Rome,"  Arnold's  "History  of  Rome,"  Gib- 
bon's "  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,"  Milman's  "  History 
of  Latin  Christianity,"  Merivale's  "  Romans  under  the  Empire." 

1  No  one  who  reads  the  history  of  the  last  three  hun- 
dred years,  no  one,  above  all,  who  studies  attentively  the 
career  of  Napoleon,  can  helieve  it  possible  for  any  state, 
however  great  her  energy  and  material  resources,  to  re- 
peat in  modern  Europe  the  part  of  ancient  Rome  ;  to 
gather  into  one  vast  political  body  races  whose  national 
individuality  has  grown  more  and  more  marked  in  each 
successive  age.     Nevertheless,  it  is  in  great  measure  due 
to  Rome  and  to  the  Roman  Empire  of  the  Middle  Ages 
that  the  bonds  of  national  union  are  on  the  whole  both 
stronger  and  nobler  than  they  were  ever  before.     The 
latest  historian  of  Rome,  after  summing  up  the  results  to 
the  world  of  his  hero's  career,  closes  his  treatise  with 
these  words : 

2  "  There  was  in  the  world  as  Caesar  found  it  the  rich 
and  noble  heritage  of  past  centuries,  and  an  endless  abun- 
dance of  splendor  and  glory,  but  little  soul,  still  less  taste, 
and,  least  of  all,  joy  in  and  through  life.    Truly  it  was  an 
old  world,  and  even  Caesar's  genial  patriotism  could  not 
make  it  young  again.     The  blush  of  dawn  returns  not 
until  the  night  has  fully  descended.    Yet  with  him  tin-re 
came  to  the  much-tormented  races  of  the  Mediterranean 
a  tranquil  evening  after  a  sultry  day ;  and  when,  after 
long  historical  night,  the  new  day  broke  once  more  upon 
the  peoples,  and  fresh  nations  in  free,  self-guided  move- 
ment began  their  course  toward  new  and  higher  aims, 
many  were  found   among  them  in  whom   the  seed  of 
Caesar  had  sprung  up,  many  who  owed  him,  and  who  owe 
him  still,  their  national  individuality." 

3  If  this  be  the  glory  of  Julius,  the  first  great  founder 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  363 

of  the  empire,  so  is  it  also  the  glory  of  Charlemagne,  the 
second  founder,  and  of  more  than  one  among  his  Teu- 
tonic successors.  The  work  of  the  mediaeval  empire  was 
self-destructive  ;  and  it  fostered,  while  seeming  to  oppose, 
the  nationalities  that  were  destined  to  replace  it.  It 
tamed  the  barbarous  races  of  the  North,  and  forced  them 
within  the  pale  of  civilization.  It  preserved  the  arts  and 
literature  of  antiquity.  In  times  of  violence  and  oppres- 
sion, it  set  before  its  subjects  the  duty  of  rational  obedi- 
ence to  an  authority  whose  watchwords  were  peace  and 
religion.  It  kept  alive,  when  national  hatreds  were  most 
bitter,  the  notion  of  a  great  European  commonwealth. 
And,  by  doing  all  this,  it  was  in  effect  abolishing  the  4 
need  for  a  centralizing  and  despotic  power  like  itself ;  it 
was  making  men  capable  of  using  national  independence 
aright ;  it  was  teaching  them  to  rise  to  that  conception  of 
spontaneous  activity,  and  a  freedom  which  is  above  law 
but  not  against  it,  to  which  national  independence  itself, 
if  it  is  to  be  a  blessing  at  all,  must  be  only  a  means. 

Those  who  mark  what  has  been  the  tendency  of  5 
events  since  A.  D.  1789,  and  who  remember  how  many  of 
the  crimes  and  calamities  of  the  past  are  still  but  half 
redressed,  need  not  be  surprised  to  see  the  so-called  prin- 
ciple of  nationalities  advocated  with  honest  devotion  as 
the  final  and  perfect  form  of  political  development.  But 
such  undistinguishing  advocacy  is,  after  all,  only  the  old 
error  in  a  new  shape.  If  all  other  history  did  not  bid  us 
beware  the  habit  of  taking  the  problems  and  the  condi- 
tions of  our  own  age  for  those  of  all  time,  the  warning 
which  the  empire  gives  might  alone  be  warning  enough. 
From  the  days  of  Augustus  down  to  those  of  Charles  V,  6 
the  whole  civilized  world  believed  in  its  existence  as  a 
part  of  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  and  Christian  theo- 
logians were  not  behind  heathen  poets  in  declaring  that 


364  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

when  it  perished  the  world  would  perish  with  it.  Yet 
the  empire  is  gone,  and  the  world  remains,  and  hardly 
notes  the  change.  This  is  but  a  small  part  of  what  might 
be  said  upon  an  almost  inexhaustible  theme — inexhausti- 
ble not  from  its  extent  but  from  its  profundity — not  be- 
cause there  is  so  much  to  say,  but  because,  pursue  we  it 
never  so  far,  more  will  remain  unexpressed,  since  incapa- 

7  ble  of  expression.     For  that  which  it  is  at  once  most  ne- 
cessary and  least  easy  to  do,  is  to  look  at  the  empire  as  a 
whole;  a  single  institution,  in  which  centers  the  history 
of  eighteen  centuries,  whose  outer  form  is  the  same, 
while  its  essence  and  spirit  are  constantly  changing.     It 
is  when  we  come  to  consider  it  in  this  light  that  the 
difficulties  of  so  vast  a  subject  are  felt  in  all  their  force. 
Try  to  explain  in  words  the  theory  and  inner  meaning  of 
the  Holy  Empire,  as  it  appeared  to  the  saints  and  poets  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  that  which  we  can  not  but  conceive 
as  noble  and  fertile  in  its  life  sinks  into  a  heap  of  barren 
and  scarcely  intelligible  formulas.    Who  has  been  able  to 
describe  the  Papacy  in  the  power  it  once  wielded  over 
the  hearts  and  imaginations  of  men  ? 

8  Those  persons,  if  such  there  still  be,  who  see  in  it 
nothing  but  a  gigantic  upas-tree  of  fraud  and  superstition, 
planted  and  reared  by  the  enemy  of  mankind,  are  hardly 
further  from  entering  into  the  mystery  of  its  being  than 
the  complacent  political   philosopher,  who   explains   in 
neat  phrases  the  process  of  its  growth,  analyzes  it  as  a 
clever  piece  of  mechanism,  enumerates  and  measures  the 
interests  it  appealed  to,  and  gives,  in  conclusion,  a  sort  of 
tabular  view  of  its  results  for  good  and  for  evil. 

9  So,  too,  is  the  Holy  Empire  above  all  description  or 
explanation  ;  not  that  it  is  impossible  to  discover  the  be- 
liefs which  created  and  sustained  it,  but  that  the  power 
of  those  beliefs  can  not  be  adequately  apprehended  by 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  36S 

men   whose   minds  have   been  differently  trained,  and 
whose  minds  are  fired  by  different  ideals. 

Something,  yet  still  how  little,  we  should  know  of  it  10 
if  we  knew  what  were  the  thoughts  of  Julius  Caesar  when 
he  laid  the  foundations  on  which  Augustus  built;  of 
Charles,  when  he  reared  anew  the  stately  pile  ;  of  Bar- 
barossa  and  his  grandson,  when  they  strove  to  avert  the 
surely  coming  ruin.  Something  more  succeeding  genera- 
tions will  know,  who  will  judge  the  Middle  Ages  more 
fairly  than  we,  still  living  in  the  midst  of  a  reaction 
against  all  that  is  mediaeval,  can  hope  to  do,  and  to  whom 
it  will  still  be  given  to  see  and  understand  new  forms 
of  political  life,  whose  nature  we  can  not  so  much  as  con- 
jecture. Seeing  more  than  we  do,  they  will  also  see  11 
some  things  less  distinctly.  The  empire  which  to  us  still 
looms  largely  on  the  horizon  of  the  past,  will  to  them 
sink  lower  and  lower  as  they  journey  onward  into  the 
future.  But  its  importance  in  universal  history  it  can 
never  lose.  For  into  it  all  the  life  of  the  ancient  world 
was  gathered  ;  out  of  it  all  the  life  of  the  modern  world 
arose. 


WESTMINSTER    ABBEY. 

This  interesting  extract  is  from  Freeman's  "  Norman  Conquest," 
vol.  iii.  In  the  second  volume  we  have  an  admirable  sketch  of  the 
building  of  the  original  Westminster  Abbey  by  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor, as  well  as  the  origin  of  the  name,  West-Minster,  in  distinc- 
tion from  St.  Paul's,  which  in  its  earliest  days  was  known  as  the 
East- Minster.  In  the  third  volume  we  have  an  impressive  account 
of  the  death  of  the  Confessor,  which  occurred  almost  simultaneously 
with  the  completion  of  his  cherished  abbey ;  his  burial,  and  the  cor- 
onation of  Harold,  his  successor,  in  the  abbey,  on  the  same  day.* 

*  January  6,  1066,  A..  D. 


366  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

This  incident,  a  burial  and  a  coronation  on  the  same  day,  is  unpar- 
alleled, even  in  the  history  of  Westminster  Abbey.  The  canoniza- 
tion of  Edward,  during  the  reign  of  Henry  II,  and  the  translation  of 
his  remains  to  a  nobler  shrine,  are  next  described.  Then  follows 
the  account  of  the  rebuilding  of  the  abbey  by  Henry  III,  and  the 
second  translation  of  Edward's  remains.  At  this  point  our  extract 
begins.  The  erection  of  the  present  abbey  by  Henry  III,  its  escape 
from  destruction  in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII,  are  all  related  with  Mr. 
Freeman's  characteristic  accuracy  and  fullness.  The  narrative  is  so 
complete,  that  little  remains  to  be  added  in  the  way  of  suggestion. 
Dean  Stanley's  **  Memorials  of  Westminster  Abbey,"  revised  edition, 
should  be  consulted  by  the  student.  Who  was  the  first  great  poet 
buried  in  Westminster  Abbey  ?  Who  was  the  last  monarch  buried 
there  ?  Where  are  the  sovereigns  of  England  now  buried  ?  The 
suggestions  already  made  in  regard  to  the  study  of  historic  buildings 
apply  with  peculiar  force  to  Westminster  Abbey.  This  extract  is 
inserted  with  a  view  to  direct  the  attention  of  the  student  to  Mr. 
Freeman's  invaluable  work  on  the  u  Norman  Conquest." 

1  YEARS  rolled  on,  and  the  Bpot  to  which  Edward  had 
been  moved  on  his  first  translation  was  now  deemed  un- 
worthy of  a  saint  who  was  already  looked  upon  as  the 
patron  of  England.     A  king  now  sat  upon  the  throne  of 
Edward  who  was  in  many  points  a  reproduction  of  Ed- 
ward himself.     The  same  fervent  zeal  for  God,  the  same 
neglect  of  duty  toward   man,  the  same  vehemence  in 
speech  and  weakness  in  action,  the  same  love  for  men  of 
foreign  lands,  the  same  deep  and  lavish  devotion  to  the 
holy    house   of    Saint   Peter,   appeared    in    Henry   III 
which  had  already  appeared  in  the  predecessor  whom  he 

2  reverenced  and  resembled.     The  king  who,  like  Edward, 
aroused  the  feelings  of  the  nation  by  his  wasteful  prefer- 
ence for  strangers  of  every  land,  chose  as  the  special  ob- 
jects of  his  religious  devotion  two  royal  saints  of  English 
birth.     Before  all   other  saints,  King  Henry's  worship 
was  paid  to  the  East- Anglian  Edmund  and  the  West- 
Saxon  Edward.     By  his  act  those  kingly  names  again 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  367 

found  their  way  into  the  royal  house,  and  the  name  of 
the  saint  himself  became  the  most  glorious  in  the  later 
history  of  England.  In  honor  of  Edward  the  work  of  3 
Edward  was  destroyed.  The  church  which  he  himself 
had  reared  was  now  deemed  unworthy  to  be  the  dwelling- 
place  of  so  great  a  saint.  The  "  massive  arches,  broad  and 
round,"  of  the  church  which  so  long  was  the  model  for 
all  England,  now  gave  way  to  those  slender  pillars  and 
soaring  arches  which,  alone  among  English  minsters,  go 
some  way  to  reproduce  the  boundless  height  of  Amiens 
and  Beauvais.  There,  alone  among  English  minsters  of 
its  own  date,  did  the  tall  apse  and  its  surrounding  chapels 
crown  the  eastern  end  of  what  was  now  the  church  of 
Saint  Edward.  But  that  apse  was  not  reared,  as  at  4 
Amiens  and  at  Le  Mans,  at  Pershore  and  at  Tewkesbury, 
to  form  the  most  glorious  of  canopies  for  the  altar  of  the 
Most  High.  Not  in  any  subordinate  chapel,  but  in  the 
noblest  spot  of  all,  in  the  spot  which  elsewhere  was  re- 
served for  the  highest  acts  of  Christian  worship,  was  the 
new  shrine  of  Edward  reared.  And  the  workmanship  of 
that  gorgeous  shrine  was  of  a  type  fit  for  him  who  reared 
it,  and  for  him  in  whose  honor  it  was  reared.  Among  all 
the  tombs  of  kings  which  are  gathered  together  in  that 
solemn  spot,  two  alone  reveal  in  their  style  of  art  the 
work  of  craftsmen  from  beyond  the  sea  and  even  from 
beyond  the  mountains.  The  resting-places  of  the  two  5 
kings  in  whose  heart  beat  no  English  feeling,  the  two 
kings  who  loved  to  be  surrounded  by  men  of  any  nation 
rather  than  their  own,  the  two  kings  who,  more  than  any 
other  kings  in  English  history,  laid  England  of  their  own 
act  prostrate  at  the  feet  of  Kome,  the  shrine  of  Edward, 
the  tomb  of  Henry,  are  fittingly  adorned  with  forms 
which  awake  no  English  associations,  the  work  not  of 
English  but  of  Italian  hands.  To  that  shrine,  a  hundred 


368  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

and  three  years  after  its  first  translation,  the  body  of  the 
saint  was  borne  by  a  crowd  of  the  noblest  of  the  land. 

6  Among  them  two  kings  and  two  kings'  sons  bowed  their 
shoulders  beneath  the  hallowed  weight.     The  two  high- 
est of  earthly  rulers,  the  continental  and  the  insular  Ba- 
sileus,  Richard  of  Germany  and  Henry  of  England,  were 
foremost  to  bear  the  burden  to  which  it  was  deemed  a 
holy  work  to  stretch  forth  a  single  finger.    With  the  one 
English  Augustus  there  joined  in  the  task  his  nephew, 
the  one  Englishman  besides  himself  who  ever  bore  the 
titles  of  foreign  royalty:  Edmund  of  Lancaster,  whose 
vain  pretensions  to  the  Sicilian  crown  had  been  already 
transferred  to  the  stronger  hand  of  the  conqueror  from 
Anjou.     Fit  bearers  for  the  foreign-hearted  saint  were 
an  English  king  who  hated  Englishmen,  and   English 
princes  who  wasted  English  treasure  in  seeking  after 

7  the  kingship  of  other  lands.     But  there  was  one  who 
shared  in  their  work  who  might  seem  sent  there  expressly 
to  remind  us  that  the  object  of  their  worship  was,  after 
all,  an  Englishman.     Among  those  who  bent  to  bear  Ed- 
ward's body  was  the  prince  who  was  named  after  his 
name,  but  whose  life  reproduced,  not  the  life  of  Edward 
the  Confessor,  but  the  life  of  Edward  the  Unconquered. 
It  was  then  deemed  an  honor  and  a  privilege  to  draw 
near  to  the  body  of  Edward.    "Was  it  not  rather  the  high- 
est of  honors  paid  to  Edward  himself,  that  Harold  stood 
by  his  side  at  his  first  burial,  and  that  in  the  great  rite  of 
his  translation  a  share  was  borne  by  him  who  did  in  truth 
live  to  wield  the  scepter  of  the  Isle  of  Albion,  and  in 
whom  the  Scot  and  the  Briton  once  more  bowed  to  an 

8  Edward  of  England  as  their  father  and  their  lord  ?     But 
the  posthumous   history  of   Edward  the  Confessor  did 
not  end  even  with  this  crowning  triumph.     His  shrine  at 
Westminster  became  the  center  of  a  group  of  royal  tombs 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  369 

such  as  gathered  in  earlier  times  in  the  more  ancient  seats 
of  royalty  at  Winchester  and  Sherborne.  Or  a  closer 
parallel  still  might  be  looked  for  in  that  renowned  sanc- 
tuary of  the  "West,  the  resting-place  of  Edward's  nobler 
brother,  where  Briton  and  Englishman  agreed  to  revere 
the  name  of  the  legendary  Arthur,  as  at  Westminster 
Englishman  and  Norman  agreed  to  revere  the  name  of 
the  now  well-nigh  legendary  Edward.  Eight  years  after  9 
the  burial  of  Edward,  his  widow,  the  loving  sister  of 
Tostig,  the  loyal  subject  of  William,  was  laid  by  his 
side  before  the  altar  of  Saint  Peter.  The  zeal  of  King 
Henry  thought  of  her  also,  and  her  remains,  translated  to 
the  chapel  of  her  husband,  were  laid  as  near  to  his  side 
as  the  remains  of  an  ordinary  sinful  mortal  might  lie  to 
those  of  a  wonder-working  saint. 

To  the  other  side  of  his  shrine  was  moved  the  dust  10 
of  another  Eadgyth,  disguised  in  history  by  her  Norman 
name,  Matilda,  her  in  whom  the  green  tree  first  began  to 
return  to  the  trunk,  and  in  whose  grandson  Normandy  and 
England  alike  became  parts  of  the  dominions  of  the  Ange- 
vin. No  legend  or  effigy  marks  the  graves  of  these  royal 
ladies,  but  soon  the  choicest  skill  of  the  craftsman  was 
lavished  on  the  tombs  of  kings  and  princes  which  crowded 
around  the  shrine  of  their  sainted  predecessor.  To  the  11 
north  King  Henry  sleeps  in  his  tomb  of  foreign  work, 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  patron  whom  he  had  so  deeply 
honored.  Worthier  dust  lies  east  and  west  of  him.  No 
graven  figure  marks  the  resting-place  of  his  immortal  son, 
but  the  loveliest  work  of  all  within  that  mighty  charnel- 
house  records  the  love  and  grief  of  the  great  king  for  a 
consort  worthy  of  him.  Succeeding  ages  surrounded  the 
sacred  spot  with  the  sculptured  forms  of  succeeding  gen- 
erations of  English  royalty.  There  sleeps  the  victor  of  12 
Cr4cy  and  the  victor  of  Agincourt ;  there  sleeps,  beside 


370  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

his  nobler  queen,  the  king  from  whom  the  Parliament  of 
England,  in  the  exercise  of  its  ancient  right,  took  away 
the  crown  of  which  he  had  shown  himself  unworthy. 
Thus  around  the  shrine  of  Edward  were  gathered  the 
successors  who  in  life  had  sworn  to  keep  his  fancied  laws, 
and  who  deemed  it  their  highest  honor  to  wear  his  crown 
and  to  sit  upon  his  royal  seat.  At  last  a  king  arose  in 
whose  eyes  the  wealth  which  earlier  kings  had  lavished 
on  that  spot  outweighed  the  reverence  with  which  so 

13  many  ages  had  surrounded  Edward's  name.     One  Henry 
had  reared  alike  the  shrine  and  the  pile  which  held  it ; 
the  word  of  another  Henry  went  forth  to  cast  to  the  owls 
and  to  the  bats  all  that  earlier  ages  had  deemed  holy. 
And  yet  some  remorse  seems  to  have  smitten  the  soul  of 
the  destroyer  before  the  shrine  of  the  royal  patron  and 
lawgiver  of  England.     Elsewhere  the  shrines  of  more  an- 
cient saints  were  leveled  with  the  ground  ;  elsewhere  the 
dust  of  kings  and  heroes  was  scattered  to  the  winds.    The 
wealth  of  Edward's  shrine  was  indeed  borne  away  to  be 
sported  broadcast  among  the  minions  of  Henry's  court, 
but  the  empty  casket  still  stood  untouched,  and  the  hal- 
lowed remains  found  another,  if  a  lowlier,  resting-place 

14  within  the  minster- walls.     And  the  days  yet  came  whi-n 
one  translation  more  restored  the  corpse  of  Edward  to  its 
place  of  honor.     And  again  it  was  from  fitting  hands 
that  he  received  this  last  act  of  veneration.     Translated 
first  by  the  zeal  of  Henry  and  Eleanor,  he  was  again  re- 
stored to  his  old  honors  by  the  zeal  of  Philip  and  Mary. 
And  now,  while  the  dust  of  Edmund  and  Harold  is  scat- 
tered to  the  winds,  Edward  still  sleeps  in  his  shrine,  un- 
worshiped  indeed  but  undisturbed. 


UHIV^jiTY 


HISTORICAL 


SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH. 
BANCROFT'S  "  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES." 

The  student  will  find  an  admirable  sketch  of  Raleigh's  life  and 
character  in  the  first  volume  of  Dr.  Hawks's  "History  of  North 
Carolina."  A  somewhat  different  view  will  be  found  in  Brewer's 
"  Studies  in  English  History  and  English  Literature — Essay  on  Hat- 
field  House."  Raleigh  was  one  of  those  striking  exhibitions  of  ver- 
satile genius  so  conspicuous  during  the  Elizabethan  age — scholar, 
historian,  soldier,  explorer.  His  relation  to  Spenser  is  one  of  the 
most  attractive  episodes  in  his  history.  Sir  Walter  was  executed 
at  Westminster  in  1618.  Among  his  contemporaries  were  Sidney, 
Essex,  Southampton,  the  patron  of  Shakespeare,  Bacon,  Shake- 
speare, Ben  Jonson,  the  Cecils,  Leicester,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 
What  was  the  date  of  Raleigh's  settlements  on  the  coast  of  North 
Carolina?  How  long  did  they  precede  the  Jamestown  and  Ply- 
mouth settlements? 

THE  name  of  Raleigh  stands  highest  among  the  states- 1 
men  of  England  who  advanced  the  colonization  of  the 
United  States.  Courage,  self-possession,  and  fertility  of 
invention  insured  him  glory  in  his  profession  of  arms  ; 
and  his  services  in  the  conquest  of  Cadiz  and  the  cap- 
ture of  Fayal  established  his  fame  as  a  gallant  and  suc- 
cessful commander.  No  soldier  in  retirement  ever  ex- 
pressed the  charms  of  tranquil  leisure  more  beautifully 
than  Raleigh,  whose  "fiwr>t  verse  "'  Spenser  described  as 
"sprinkled  with  nectar,"  and  rivaling  the  melodies  of 
the  "  summer's  nightingale."  When  an  unjust  verdict  left  2 
him  to  languish  for  years  in  prison,  with  the  sentence  of 
death  suspended  over  his  head,  he,  who  had  been  a  war- 
rior, a  courtier,  and  a  seaman,  in  an  elaborate  "  History 
of  the  World,"  u  told  the  Greek  and  Roman  story  more 
fully  and  exactly  than  any  earlier  English  writer,  and  with 
an  eloquence  which  has  given  his  work  a  classical  repu- 
tation in  our  language."  In  his  civil  career  he  was  leal'  # 
25 


372  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ous  of  the  honor,  the  prosperity,  and  the  advancement  ot 
his  country.  In  Parliament  he  defended  the  freedom 
of  domestic  industry.  When,  through  unequal  legisla- 
tion, taxation  was  a  burden  upon  industry  rather  than 
wealth,  he  argued  for  a  change.  Himself  possessed  of  a 
lucrative  monopoly,  he  gave  his  voice  for  the  repeal  of 
all  monopolies,  he  used  his  influence  with  his  sovereign 
to  mitigate  the  severity  of  the  judgments  against  the  non- 
conformists, and  as  a  legislator  he  resisted  the  sweeping 

4  enactment  of  persecuting  laws.     In  the  career  of  discov- 
ery, his  perseverance  was  never  baffled  by  losses.     He 
joined  in  the  risk  of  Gilbert's  expedition,  contributed  to 
that  of  Davis  in  the  northwest,  and  explored  in  person 
"  the  insular  regions  and  broken  world  "  of  Guiana.    His 
lavish  efforts  in  colonizing  the  soil  of  our  republic,  his 
sagacity  which  enjoined  a  settlement  within  the  Chesa- 
peake Bay,  the  publications  of  Hariot  and  Hakluyt,  which 
he  countenanced,  diffused   in  England  a  knowledge  of 
America  as  well  as  an  interest  in  its  destinies,  and  sowed 
the  seeds  of  which  the  fruits  began  to  ripen  during  his 

5  life-time.    Raleigh  had  suffered  in  health  before  his  latest 
undertaking.     He  returned  broken-hearted  by  the  defeat 
of  his  hopes,  the  decay  of  his  strength,  and  the  death  of 
his  eldest  son.     What  shall  be  said  of  King  James,  who 
would  open  to  an  aged  paralytic  no  hope  of  liberty  but 
through  the  discovery  of  mines  in  Guiana  ?     What  shall 
be  said  of  a  monarch  who  could,  under  a  sentence  that 
slumbered  for  fifteen  years,  order  the  execution  of  the 
decrepit  man,  whose  genius  and  valor  shone  through  the 
ravages  of  physical  decay,  and  whose  heart  still  beat  with 

6  an  undying  love  of  his  country  ?    The  family  of  the  chief 
author  of  colonization  in  the  United  States  was  reduced  to 
beggary  by  the  government  of  England,  and  he  himself 
was  beheaded.    After  a  lapse  of  nearly  two  centuries,  the 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  373 

State  of  North  Carolina,  in  1792,  revived  in  its  capital 
the  "  City  of  Raleigh,"  in  grateful  commemoration  of  his 
name  and  fame.  Imagination  already  saw  beyond  the 
Atlantic  a  people  whose  mother  idiom  should  be  the  lan- 
guage of  England.  "  Who  knows,"  exclaimed  Daniel, 
the  poet  laureate  of  that  kingdom — 

"  "Who  in  time  knows  whither  we  may  vent 

The  treasures  of  our  tongue  ?     To  what  strange  shores 
This  gain  of  our  best  glory  shall  be  sent 

T'  enrich  unknowing  nations  with  our  stores? 
What  worlds  in  th'  yet  unformed  Occident 

May  'come  refined  with  th'  accents  that  are  ours  ? " 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON    IN  THE   DAYS  OF   SHAKE- 
SPEARE. 

HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS'S    "  LIFE   OF   8HAZESPEAKE." 

The  development  of  literature  constitutes  an  important  phase  of 
historical  study.  Hence  this  description  of  Stratford- on- A  von,  the 
birth-place  and  burial-place  of  Shakespeare,  as  it  was  in  the  poet's 
life-time  (1564-1616),  is  inserted.  Warwickshire  is  rich  in  historic 
associations.  Not  far  from  Stratford-on-Avon  are  Warwick  Castle, 
Coventry,  Kenil  worth,  upon  which  the  genius  of  Sir  Walter  Scott 
has  conferred  an  additional  immortality.  Warwick,  the  king-maker, 
Leicester,  Elizabeth,  Amy  Robsart,  all  come  back  to  memory.  Amid 
these  stimulating  influences  Shakespeare's  childhood  was  spent. 

THOSE  who  would  desire  to  realize  the  general  ap-1 
pearance  of  the  Stratford-on-Avon  of  the  poet's  days  must 
deplore  the  absence  not  merely  of  a  genuine  sketch  of 
New  Place,  but  of  any  kind  of  view  or  engraving  of  the 
town  as  it  appeared  in  the  sixteenth  or  seventeenth  cen- 
tury. Its  aspect  must  then  have  been  essentially  differ- 


374  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ent  from  that  exhibited  at  a  subsequent  period.  Rela- 
tively to  ourselves,  Shakespeare  may  practically  be  con- 
sidered to  have  existed  in  a  different  land,  not  more  than 
glimpses  of  the  real  nature  of  which  are  now  to  be  ob- 
tained by  the  most  careful  study  of  existing  documents 

2  and  material  remains.     Many  enthusiasts  of  these  times 
who  visit  Stratford-on-Avon  are  under  the  delusion  that 
they  behold  a  locality  which  recalls  the  days  of  the  great 
dramatist,  but,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  diffused  build- 
ings, scarcely  one  of  which  is  precisely  in  its  original  con- 
dition, there  is  no  resemblance  between  the  present  town 
and  the  Shakespearean  borough — the  latter  with  its  me- 
diaeval and  Elizabethan  buildings,  its  crosses,  its  numer- 
ous barns  and  thatched  hovels,  its  water-mills,  its  street- 
bridges  and  rivulets,  its  mud-walls,  its  fetid  ditches,  its 
unpaved  walks,  and  its  wooden-spired  church,  with  the 
common  fields  reaching  nearly  to  the  gardens  of  the  Birth- 

3  Place.    Neither  can  there  be  a  much  greater  resemblance 
between  the  ancient  and  modern  general  views  of  the 
town  from  any  of  the  neighboring  elevations.    The  tower 
and  lower  part  of  the  church,  the  top  of  the  Guild  Chapel, 
a  few  old  tall  chimneys,  the  course  of  the  river,  the  mill- 
dam,  and  the  outlines  of  the  surrounding  hills,  would 
be  nearly  all  that  would  be  common  to  both  prospects. 

4  There  were,  however,  until  the  last  few  years,  the  old 
mill-bridge,  which,  excepting  that  rails  had  been  added, 
preserved  its  Elizabethan  form,  the  Cross-on-the-Hill,  and 
the  Wier  Brake,  the  two  latter  fully  retaining  their  origi- 
nal character.     Now,  alas,  a  hideous  railway  has  oblit- 
erated all  traces  of  the  picturesque  from  what  was  one  of 
the  most  interesting  and  charming  spots  in  Warwickshire, 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  375 

THE  EARLY   PLANTAGENETS.— IMPORTANCE  OF 
THEIR  EPOCH    IN   EUROPEAN    HISTORY. 

6TUBB8'8    "  EARLY   PLANTAGENETS." 

Much  light  is  thrown  upon  the  interesting  period  considered  by 
Professor  Stubbs  in  some  of  Freeman's  "  Historical  Essays,"  and 
in  Bryce's  "  Holy  Roman  Empire." 

THE  geographical  area  of  that  history  which  alone  de- 1 
serves  the  name  has  more  than  once  changed.  The  early 
home  of  human  society  was  in  Asia.  Greece  and  Italy 
successively  became  the  theatres  of  the  world's  drama, 
and  in  modern  times  the  real  progress  of  society  .has 
moved  within  the  limits  of  Western  Christendom.  So, 
too,  with  the  material  history.  At  one  period  the  growth 
of  the  life  of  the  world  is  in  its  literature,  at  another 'in 
its  wars,  at  another  in  its  institutions.  Sometimes  every- 
thing circles  round  one  great  man ;  at  other  times  the  key 
to  the  interest  is  found  in  some  complex  political  idea, 
such  as  the  balance  of  power,  or  the  realization  of  national 
identity.  The  successive  stages  of  growth  in  the  more  2 
advanced  nations  are  not  contemporaneous,  and  may  not 
follow  in  the  same  order.  The  quickened  energy  of  one 
race  finds  its  expression  in  commerce  and  colonization  ; 
that  of  another  in  internal  organization  and  elaborate 
training ;  that  of  a  third  in  arms ;  that  of  a  fourth  in  art 
and  literature.  In  some  the  literary  growth  precedes  the 
political  growth,  in  others  it  follows  it ;  in  some  it  is 
forced  into  premature  luxuriance  by  national  struggles, 
in  others  the  national  struggles  themselves  engross  the 
strength  that  would  ordinarily  find  expression  in  litera- 
ture. Art  has  flourished  greatly,  both  where  political 
freedom  has  encouraged  the  exercise  of  every  natural 
gift  and  where  political  oppression  has  forced  the  genius 


376  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

of  the  people  into  a  channel  which  seemed  least  danger- 

3  ous  to  the  oppressor.     Still,  on  the  whole,  the  European 
nations  in  modern  history  emerge  from  somewhat  similar 
circumstances.     Under  somewhat  similar  discipline,  and 
by  somewhat  similar  expedients,  they  feel  their  way  to 
that  national  consciousness  in  which  they  ultimately  di- 
verge so  widely.     We  may  hope,  then,  to  find,  in  the 
illustration  of  a  definite  section  or  well-ascertained  epoch 
of  that  history,  sufficient  unity  of  plot  and   interest,  a 
sufficient  number  of  contrasts  and  analogies,  to  save  it 
from  being  a  dry  analysis  of  facts  or  a  mere  statement  of 

4  general  laws.  .  .  .  Such  a  period  is  that  upon  which  we 
now  enter — an  epoch  which  in  the  history  of  England 
extends  from  the  accession  of  Stephen  to  the  death  of 
Edward  II ;  that  is,  from  the  beginning  of  the  constitu- 
tional growth  of  a  consolidated  English  people  to  the 
opening  of  the  long  struggle  with  France  under  Edward 
III.     It  is  scarcely  less  well  defined  in  French  and  Ger- 
man history.     In  France  it  witnesses  the  process  through 
which  the  modern  kingdom  of  France  was  constituted ; 
the  aggregation  of  the  several  provinces  which  had  hith- 
erto recognized  only  a  nominal  feudal  supremacy,  under 
the  direct  personal  rule  of  the  king,  and  their  incorpora- 

5tion  into  a  national  system  of  administration.  In  Ger- 
many it  comprises  a  more  varied  series  of  great  incidents. 
The  process  of  disruption  in  the  German  kingdom,  never 
well  consolidated,  had  begun  with  the  great  schism  be- 
tween North  and  South  under  Henry  IV,  and  furnished 
one  chief  element  in  the  quarrel  between  pope  and  em- 
peror. During  the  first  half  of  the  twelfth  century  it 
worked  more  deeply,  if  not  more  widely,  in  the  rivalry 
between  Saxon  and  Swabian.  Under  Frederick  I  it  ne- 
cessitated the  remodeling  of  the  internal  arrangement 
of  Germany,  the  breaking  up  of  the  national  or  dynastic 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  377 

dukedoms.  Under  Frederick  II  it  broke  up  the  empire 
itself,  to  be  reconstituted  in  a  widely  different  form  and 
with  altered  aims  and  pretensions  under  Rudolf  of  Haps- 
burg.  This  is  by  itself  a  most  eventful  history,  in  which  6 
the  varieties  of  combinations  and  alternations  of  public 
feeling  abound  with  new  results  and  illustrations  of  the 
permanence  of  ancient  causes.  ...  In  the  relations  of 
the  empire  and  the  papacy  the  same  epoch  contains  one 
cycle  of  the  great  rivalry,  the  series  of  struggles  which 
take  a  new  form  under  Frederick  I  and  Alexander  III, 
and  come  to  an  end  in  the  contest  between  Lewis  of  Ba- 
varia and  John  XXII.  It  comprises  the  whole  drama  of 
the  Hohenstaufen,  and  the  failure  of  the  great  hopes  of 
the  world  under  Henry  VII,  which  resulted  in  the  con- 
stituting of  a  new  theory  of  relations  under  the  Luxem- 
burg and  Hapsburg  emperors.  .  .  .  While  these  greater  7 
actors  are  thus  preparing  for  the  struggle  which  forms 
the  later  history  of  European  politics,  Spain  and  Italy  are 
passing  through  a  different  discipline.  In  the  midst  of 
all  runs  the  history  of  the  Church  and  the  Crusades,  which 
supplies  one  continuous  clew  to  the  reading  of  the  period, 
a  common  ground  on  which  all  the  actors  for  a  time  and 
from  time  to  time  meet.  .  .  .  But  the  interest  of  the  time  8 
is  not  confined  to  political  history.  It  abounds  with 
character.  It  is  an  age  in  which  there  are  very  many- 
great  men,  and  in  which  the  great  men  not  only  occupy 
but  deserve  the  first  place  in  the  historian's  eye.  It  is 
their  history  rather  than  the  history  of  their  peoples  that 
furnishes  the  contribution  of  the  period  to  the  world's 
progress.  This  is  the  heroic  period  of  the  middle  ages —  9 
the  only  period  during  which,  on  a  great  scale  and  on  a 
great  stage,  were  exemplified  the  true  virtues  which  were 
later  idealized  and  debased  in  the  name  of  chivalry — the 
age  of  John  of  Brienne  and  Simon  de  Montfort,  of  the 


378  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

two  great  Fredericks,  of  St.  Bernard  and  Innocent  III, 
and  of  St.  Lewis  and  Edward  I.  It  is  free  for  the  most 
part  from  the  repulsive  features  of  the  ages  that  precede, 
and  from  the  vindictive  cruelty  and  political  immorality 
of  the  age  that  follows.  Manners  are  more  refined  than 
in  the  earlier  age,  and  yet  simpler  and  sincerer  than  those 
of  the  next ;  religion  is  more  distinctly  operative  for  good, 
and  less  marked  by  the  evils  which  seem  inseparable  from 

10  its  participation  in  the  political  action  of  the  world.    Yet 
not  even  the  thirteenth  century  was  an  age  of  gold,  much 
less  those  portions  of  the  twelfth  and  fourteenth  which 
come  within  our  present  view.    It  was  not  an  age  of  pros- 
perity, although  it  was  an  age  of  growth ;  its  gains  were 
gained  in  great  measure  by  suffering.     If  Lewis  IX  and 
Edward  I  taught  the  world  that  kings  might  be  both 
good  men  and  strong  sovereigns,  Henry  III  and  Lewis 
YII  taught  it  that  religious  habits  and  even  firm  convic- 
tions are  too  often  insufficient  to  keep  the  weak  from 
falsehood  and  wrong. 

11  The  history  of  Frederick  II  showed  that  the  race  is 
not  always  to  the  swift  or  the  battle  to  the  strong ;  that 
of  Conrad  and  Conradin  that  the  right  is  not  always  to 
triumph,  and  that  the  vengeance  which  evil  deeds  must 
bring  in  the  end  comes  in  some  cases  very  slowly,  and 
with  no  remedy  to  those  who  have  suffered.  ...  It  is 
but  a  small  section  of  this  great  period  that  we  propose 
to  sketch  in  the  present  volume — the  history  of  our  own 
country  during  this  epoch  of  great  men  and  great  causes — 
but  it  comprises  the  history  of  what  is  one  at  least  of 
England's  greatest  contributions  to  the  world's  progress. 

12  The  history  of  England  under  the  early  kings  of  the 
house  of  Plantagenet  unfolds  and  traces  the  growth  of 
that  constitution  which,  far  more  than  any  other  that  the 
world  has  ever  seen,  has  kept  alive  the  forms  and  spirit 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  379 

of  free  government ;  which  has  been  the  discipline  that 
formed  the  great  free  republic  of  the  present  day ;  which 
was  for  ages  the  beacon  of  true  social  freedom  that  ter- 
rified the  despots  abroad  and  served  as  a  model  for  the 
aspirations  of  hopeful  patriots.  It  is  scarcely  too  much  13 
to  say  that  English  history,  during  these  ages,  is  the  his- 
tory of  the  birth  of  true  political  liberty.  For,  not  to 
forget  the  services  of  the  Italian  republics,  or  of  the  Ger- 
man confederations  of  the  middle  ages,  we  can  not  fail  to 
see  that  in  their  actual  results  they  fell  as  dead  before  the 
great  monarchies  of  the  sixteenth  century  as  the  ancient 
liberties  of  Athens  had  fallen  ;  or  where  the  spirit  sur- 
vived, as  in  Switzerland,  it  took  a  form  in  which  no  great 
nationality  could  work.  It  was  in  England  alone  that  14 
the  problem  of  national  self-government  was  practically 
solved  ;  and,  although,  under  the  Tudor  and  Stuart  sov- 
ereigns, Englishmen  themselves  ran  the  risk  of  forgetting 
the  lessons  they  had  learned,  and  being  robbed  of  the 
fruits  for  which  their  fathers  had  labored,  the  men  who 
restored  political  consciousness,  and  who  recovered  the 
endangered  rights,  won  their  victory  by  argumentative 
weapons  drawn  from  the  storehouse  of  mediaeval  English 
history,  and  by  the  maintenance  and  realization  of  the 
spirit  of  liberty  in  forms  which  had  survived  from  earlier 
days.  It  is  as  an  introduction  to  the  study  of  English  his- 15 
tory  during  the  period  of  constitutional  growth  that  we 
shall  attempt  to  sketch  the  epoch,  not  as  a  constitutional 
history,  but  as  an  outline  of  the  period  and  of  the  combi- 
nations through  which  the  constitutional  growth  was 
working,  the  place  of  England  in  European  history,  and 
the  character  of  the  men  who  helped  to  make  her  what 
she  ultimately  became. 


380  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 


THE  INVENTION  OF  PRINTING. 

HALLAM'S  "  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  LITEBATURE  OF  EUROPE  IN  THE 
FIFTEENTH,  SIXTEENTH,  AND  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURIES." 

The  growth  of  mechanical  improvements,  the  progress  of  inven- 
tion and  discovery,  are,  in  the  strictest  sense,  a  part  of  history.  In 
regard  to  the  subject  of  printing,  its  origin,  its  influence  upon  litera- 
ture and  language,  the  student  may  consult  with  advantage  Hum- 
phrey's "  History  of  the  Art  of  Printing,"  Marsh's  "Lectures  on  the 
English  Language,"  Marsh's  "Origin  and  History  of  the  English 
Language,"  and  Wood's  "  Changes  in  the  English  Language  "  (1400- 
1600). 

1  THE  great  glory  of  this  decennial  period  (A.  D.  1440- 
1450)  is  the  invention  of  printing,  or,  at  least,  as  all  must 
allow,  its  application  to  the  purposes  of  useful  learning. 
About  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century  we  iind  a  prac- 
tice of  taking  impressions  from  engraved  blocks  of  wood, 
sometimes  for  playing-cards,  which  came  into  use  not 
long  before  that  time;  sometimes  for  rude  cuts  of  saints. 
The  latter  were  frequently  accompanied  by  a  few  lines  of 
letters  cut  in  the  block.  Gradually  entire  pages  were 
impressed  in  this  way,  and  thus  began  what  are  called 
block-books,  printed  in  fixed  characters,  but  never  ex- 
ceeding a  very  few  leaves.  Of  these  there  exist  nine  or 
ten,  often  reprinted,  as  is  generally  thought,  between 

21400  and  1440.  In  using  the  word  printed,  it  is,  of 
course,  not  intended  to  prejudice  the  question  as  to  the 
real  art  of  printing.  These  block-books  seem  to  have 
been  all  executed  in  the  Low  Countries.  They  are  paid 
to  have  been  followed  by  several  editions  of  the  short 
grammar  of  Donatus  in  wooden  stereotype.  These,  also, 
were  printed  in  Holland.  This  mode  of  printing  from 
blocks  of  wood  has  been  practiced  in  China  from  time 
immemorial. 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  381 

The  invention  of  printing,  in  the  modern  sense,  from  3 
movable  letters,  has  been  referred  by  most  to  Guten- 
berg, a  native  of  Mentz,  but  settled  at  Strasburg.  He  is 
supposed  to  have  conceived  the  idea  before  1440,  and  to 
have  spent  the  next  ten  years  in  making  attempts  at  car- 
rying it  into  effect,  which  some  assert  him  to  have  done 
in  short  fugitive  pieces,  actually  printed  from  his  mova- 
ble wooden  characters  before  1450.  But  of  the  exist- 
ence of  these  there  seems  to  be  no  evidence.  Guten- 
berg's priority  is  disputed  by  those  who  deem  Laurens 
Coster,  of  Haarlem,  the  real  inventor  of  the  art. 

According  to  a  tradition,  which  seems  not  to  be  4 
traced  beyond  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  but 
resting  afterward  upon  sufficient  testimony  to  prove  its 
local  reception,  Coster  substituted  movable  for  fixed 
letters  as  early  as  1430 ;  and  some  have  believed  that  a 
book  called  "  Speculum  Humanse  Salvationis,"  of  very 
rude  wooden  characters,  proceeded  from  the  Haarlem 
press  before  any  other  that  is  generally  recognized.  The 
tradition  adds  that  an  unfaithful  servant,  having  fled 
with  the  secret,  set  up  for  himself  at  Strasburg  or  Mentz, 
and  this  treachery  was  originally  ascribed  to  Gutenberg 
or  Faust,  but  seems,  since  they  have  been  manifestly 
cleared  of  it,  to  have  been  laid  on  one  Gensfleisch,  re- 
puted to  be  the  brother  of  Gutenberg.  The  evidence,  5 
however,  as  to  this  is  highly  precarious,  and,  even  if  we 
were  to  admit  the  claims  of  Coster,  there  seems  no  fair 
reason  to  dispute  that  Gutenberg  might  also  have  struck 
out  an  idea  that  surely  did  not  require  any  extraordinary 
ingenuity,  and  which  left  the  most  important  difficulties 
to  be  surmounted,  as  they  undeniably  were,  by  himself 
and  his  coadjutors.  It  is  agreed  by  all  that  about  1450  6 
Gutenberg,  having  gone  to  Mentz,  entered  into  partnership 
with  Faust,  a  rich  merchant  of  that  city,  for  the  purpose  of 


382  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

carrying  the  invention  into  effect,  and  that  Faust  supplied 
him  with  considerable  sums  of  money.  The  subsequent 
steps  are  obscure.  According  to  a  passage  in  the  "  Annalcs 
Hfrsargienses  "  of  Trithemius,  written  sixty  years  after- 
ward, but  on  the  authority  of  a  grandson  of  Peter  Schof- 
fer,  their  assistant  in  the  work,  it  was  about  1452  that  the 
latter  brought  the  art  to  perfection  by  devising  an  easier 

7  mode  of  casting  types.    This  passage  has  been  interpreted, 
according  to  a  lax  construction,  to  mean  that  Schoffer  in- 
vented the  method  of    casting  types  in  a  matrix,  but 
seems  more  strictly  to  mean  that  we  owe  to  him  the  great 
improvement  in  letter-casting,  namely:   the  punches  of 
engraved    steel  by   which   the   matrices   or   molds   are 
struck,  and  without  which,  independent  of  the  economy 
of  labor,  there  could  be  no  perfect  uniformity  of  shape. 
Upon  the  former  supposition,  Schoffer  may  be  reckoned 
the  main  inventor  of  the  art  of  printing;  for  movable 
wooden  letters,  though  small  books  may  possibly  have 
been  printed  by  means  of  them,  are  so  inconvenient,  and 
letters  of  cut  metal  so  expensive,  that  few  great  works 
were  likely  to  have  passed  through  the  press  till  cast 

8  types  were  employed.  .  .  .  The  earliest  book,  properly 
so  called,  is  now  generally  believed  to  be  the  Latin  Bible, 
commonly  called  the  Mazarin  Bible,  a  copy  having  been 
found,  about  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  in  Cardinal 
Mazarines  library,  at  Paris.     It  is  remarkable  that  its  ex- 
istence was  unknown  before,  for  it  can  hardly  be  called  a 
book  of  very  extraordinary  scarcity,  nearly  twenty  copies 
being  in  different  libraries,  half  of  them  in  those  of  pri- 
vate persons  in  England.     No  date  appears  in  this  Bible, 
and  some  have  referred  its  publication  to  1452,  or  even 
to  1450,  which  few,  perhaps,  would  at  present  maintain, 
while  others  have  thought   the  year  1455  rather   more 

9  probable.     In  a  copy  belonging  to  the  royal   library  at 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  383 

Paris  an  entry  is  made  importing  that  it  was  completed, 
in  binding  and  illuminating,  at  Mentz  on  the  feast  of  the 
Assumption,  August  15,  1456.  But  Trithemius,  in  the 
passage  above  quoted,  seems  to  intimate  that  no  book  had 
been  printed  in  1452 ;  and,  considering  the  lapse  of  time 
that  would  naturally  be  employed  in  such  an  undertaking 
during  the  infancy  of  the  art,  and  that  we  have  no  other 
printed  book  of  the  least  importance  to  fill  up  the  inter- 
val till  1457,  and  also  that  the  binding  and  illuminating 
the  above-mentioned  copy  are  likely  to  have  followed  the 
publication  at  no  great  length  of  time,  we  may  not  err  in 
placing  its  appearance  in  the  year  1453,  which  will  secure 
its  hitherto  unim peached  priority  in  the  records  of  bibli- 
ography. ...  It  is  a  very  striking  circumstance  that  the  10 
high-minded  inventors  of  this  great  art  tried  at  the  very 
outset  so  bold  a  flight  as  the  printing  an  entire  Bible,  and 
executed  it  with  astonishing  success.  It  was  Minerva 
leaping  on  earth  in  her  divine  strength  and  radiant  armor, 
ready,  at  the  moment  of  her  nativity,  to  subdue  and  de- 
stroy her  enemies.  The  Mazarin  Bible  is  printed,  some 
copies  on  vellum,  some  on  paper  of  choice  quality,  with 
strong,  black,  and  tolerably  handsome  characters,  but  with 
some  want  of  uniformity,  which  has  led,  perhaps  un- 
reasonably, to  a  doubt  whether  they  were  cast  in  a  matrix. 
We  may  see,  in  imagination,  this  venerable  and  splendid 
volume  leading  up  the  crowded  myriads  of  its  followers, 
and  imploring  blessing  on  the  new  art  by  dedicating  its 
first  fruits  to  the  service  of  Heaven. 


384  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

CHARACTER   OF   SIR  JOHN    MOORE. 
NAPIEK'S  "HISTORY  OF  THE  PENINSULAS  WAB." 

Nearly  every  English-speaking  school-boy  is  familiar  with  the 
"  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore,"  by  Wolfe — "  Not  a  drum  was  heard, 
not  a  funeral  note,"  etc.  Sir  John  Moore  was  mortally  wounded  at 
the  battle  of  Corunna,  in  Spain,  in  1809,  during  the  Peninsular  War, 
a  part  of  that  series  of  great  wars  which  grew  out  of  the  French 
Revolution,  and  closed  with  the  battle  of  Waterloo  (June  18,  1815). 

1  THUS  ended  the  career  of  Sir  John  Moore,  a  man 
whose  uncommon  capacity  was  sustained  by  the  purest 
virtue,  and  governed  by  a  disinterested  patriotism  more 
in  keeping  with  the  primitive  than  the  luxurious  age  of 
a  great  nation.    His  tall,  graceful  person,  his  dark,  search- 
ing eyes,  strongly  defined  forehead,  and  singularly  •  \- 
pressive  mouth,  indicated  a  noble  disposition  and  a  refined 
understanding,  while  the  lofty  sentiments  of  honor  ha- 
bitual to  his  mind,  being  adorned  by  a  subtile,  playful 
wit,  gave  him,  in  conversation,  an   ascendancy  that   he 
always  preserved  by  the  decisive  vigor  of  his  actions. 

2  He  maintained   the  right  with  a  vehemence  bordering 
upon  fierceness,  and  every  important  transaction  in  which 
he  was  engaged  increased  his  reputation  for  talent,  and 
confirmed  his  character  as  a  stern  enemy  to  vice,  a  stead- 
fast friend  to  merit,  a  just  and  faithful  servant  of  his 
country.     The  honest  loved   him,  the  dishonest  feared 
him  ;  for  while  he  lived  he  did  not  shun,  but  scorned  and 
spurned  the  base,  and,  with  characteristic  propriety,  they 
spurned  at  him  when  he  was  dead. 

3  A  soldier  from  his  earliest  youth,  Moore  thirsted  for 
the  honors  of  his  profession,  and,  feeling  that  he  was  wor- 
thy to  lead  a  British  army,  hailed  the  fortune  that  placed 
him  at  the  head  of  the  troops  destined  for  Spain.    As  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  385 

stream  of  time  passed,  the  inspiring  hopes  of  triumph 
disappeared,  but  the  austerer  glory  of  suffering  remained, 
and  with  a  firm  heart  he  accepted  that  gift  of  a  severe 
fate.  Confiding  in^the  strength  of  his  genius,  he  disre-4 
garded  the  clamors  of  presumptuous  ignorance,  and,  op- 
posing sound  military  views  to  the  foolish  projects  so  in- 
solently thrust  upon  him  by  the  ambassador,  he  conducted 
his  long  and  arduous  retreat  with  sagacity,  intelligence, 
and  fortitude ;  no  insult  disturbed,  no  falsehood  deceived 
him,  no  remonstrance  shook  his  determination ;  fortune 
frowned  without  subduing  his  constancy ;  death  struck, 
but  the  spirit  of  the  man  remained  unbroken  when  his 
shattered  body  scarcely  afforded  it  a  habitation.  Havings 
done  all  that  was  just  toward  others,  he  remembered  what 
was  due  to  himself ;  neither  the  shock  of  the  mortal  blow, 
nor  the  lingering  hours  of  acute  pain  which  preceded  his 
dissolution,  could  quell  the  pride  of  his  gallant  heart,  Or 
lower  the  dignified  feeling  with  which,  conscious  of  merit, 
he  at  the  last  moment  asserted  his  right  to  the  gratitude 
of  the  country  he  had  served  so  truly. 

If  glory  be  a  distinction,  for  such  a  man  death  is  not  6 
a  leveler ! 


SIEGE  AND   CAPTURE   OF  CONSTANTINOPLE. 
A.  D.    1453. 


The  capture  of  Constantinople  by  the  Ottoman  Turks  in  1453 
and  its  influence  upon  the  fortunes  of  literature  in  Europe  have 
already  been  referred  to.  The  Greek  scholars,  driven  from  Con- 
stantinople, took  refuge  at  the  court  of  the  Medicis,  in  Italy,  the 
splendid  patrons  of  classical  learning.  The  results  were  beneficial, 
in  the  highest  degree,  to  the  cause  of  scholarship  in  Europe.  For 


386  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

the  history  of  the  Turks,  in  addition  to  the  narrative  of  Gibbon,  the 
student  may  consult  Freeman's  "  Ottoman  Power  in  the  East."  For 
the  revival  of  learning,  Hallam,  Morley,  Green  ("  History  of  the 
English  People  "),  Taine,  Mark  Pattison's  "Life  of  Casaubon," Pater, 
Craik,  may  be  read  with  decided  advantage. 

1  AFTER  a  siege  of  forty  days,  the  fate  of  Constantinople 
could  no  longer  be  averted.      The  diminutive  garrison 
was   exhausted   by  a  double   attack;   the  fortifications, 
which  had  stood  for  ages  against  hostile  violence,  were 
dismantled  on  all  sides  by  the  Ottoman  cannon;  many 
breaches  were  opened,  and  near  the  gate  of  St.  Roman  us 
four  towers  had  been  leveled  with  the  ground.  .  .  .  Dur- 
ing the  siege  of  Constantinople,  the  words  of  peace  and 
capitulation  had  sometimes  been  pronounced,  and  several 
embassies  had  passed  between  the  camp  and  the  city. 

2  The  Greek  emperor  was  humbled  by  adversity,  and  would 
have  yielded  to  any  terms  compatible  with  religion  and 
royalty.     The  Turkish  sultan  was  desirous  of  sparing  the 
blood  of  his  own  soldiers ;  still  more  desirous  of  securing 
for  his  own  use  the  Byzantine  treasures,  and  he  accom- 
plished a  sacred  duty  in  presenting  to  the  gaboura  the 
choice  of  circumcision,  of  tribute,   or  of  death.      The 
avarice  of  Mohammed  might  have  been  satisfied  with  an 
annual  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand  ducats;  but  his 
ambition  grasped  the  capital  of  the  East ;  to  the  prince 
he  offered  a  rich  equivalent,  to  the  people  a  free  tolera- 
tion, or  a  safe  departure  ;  but,  after  some  fruitless  treaty, 
he  declared  his  resolution  of  finding  either  a  throne  or  a 

3  grave  under  the  walls  of  Constantinople.     A  sense  of 
honor  and  the  fear  of  universal  reproach  forbade  Palaeo- 
logus  to  resign  the  city  into  the  hands  of  the  Ottomans, 
and  he  determined  to  abide  the  last  extremities  of  war. 
Several  days  were  employed  by  the  Sultan  in  the  pre- 
parations for  the  assault,  and  a  respite  was  granted  by 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  387 

his  favorite  science  of  astrology,  which  had  fixed  on  the 
29th  of  May  as  the  fortunate  and  fatal  hour.  On  the 
evening  of  the  27th  he  issued  his  final  orders,  assembled 
in  his  presence  the  military  chiefs,  and  dispersed  his 
heralds  through  the  camp  to  proclaim  the  duty  and  the 
motives  of  the  perilous  enterprise.  Fear  is  the  first  4 
principle  of  a  despotic  government,  and  his  menaces  were 
expressed  in  the  oriental  style,  that  the  fugitives  and 
deserters,  had  they  the  wings  of  a  bird,  should  not  escape 
from  his  inexorable  justice.  In  this  holy  warfare  the 
Moslems  were  exhorted  to  purify  their  minds  with  prayer, 
their  bodies  with  seven  ablutions,  and  to  abstain  from 
food  till  the  close  of  the  ensuing  day.  A  crowd  of  der- 
vishes visited  the  tents,  to  instill  the  desire  of  martyrdom, 
and  the  assurance  of  spending  an  immortal  youth  amid 
the  rivers  and  gardens  of  paradise.  Yet  Mohammed  5 
principally  trusted  to  the  efficacy  of  temporal  and  visible 
rewards.  A  double  pay  was  promised  to  the  victorious 
troops.  "  The  city  and  the  buildings,"  said  Mohammed, 
"  are  mine ;  but  I  resign  to  your  valor  the  captives  and 
the  spoil,  the  treasures  of  gold  and  beauty ;  be  rich  and 
be  happy.  Many  are  the  provinces  of  my  empire ;  the 
intrepid  soldier  who  first  ascends  the  walls  of  Constanti- 
nople shall  be  rewarded  with  the  government  of  the  fair- 
est and  most  wealthy  ;  and  my  gratitude  shall  accumulate 
his  honors  and  fortunes  above  the  measure  of  his  own 
hopes."  Such  various  and  potent  motives  diffused  among  6 
the  Turks  a  general  ardor,  regardless  of  life,  and  impatient 
for  action.  The  camp  re-echoed  with  the  Moslem  shouts 
of  "  God  is  God,  there  is  but  one  God,  and  Mohammed 
is  the  apostle  of  God  " ;  and  the  sea  and  land,  from  Galata 
to  the  seven  towers,  were  illuminated  by  the  blaze  of 
their  nocturnal  fires.  .  .  .  Far  different  was  the  state  of  1 

the  Christians,  who,  with  loud  and  impotent  complaints, 
26 


388  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

deplored  the  guilt  or  the  punishment  of  their  sins.  They 
accused  the  obstinacy  of  the  emperor  for  refusing  a  timely 
surrender,  anticipated  the  horrors  of  their  fate,  and  sighed 
for  the  repose  and  security  of  Turkish  servitude.  The 
noblest  of  the  Greeks  and  the  bravest  of  the  allies  were 
summoned  to  the  palace,  to  prepare  them,  on  the  evening 
of  the  28th,  for  the  duties  and  dangers  of  the  general 

8  assault.     The  last  speech  of  Palaeologus  was  the  funeral 
oration  of  the  Roman  Empire ;  he  promised,  he  conjured, 
and  he  vainly  attempted  to  infuse  the  hope  which  was 
extinguished  in  his  own  mind.     The  example  of  their 
prince  and  the  confinement  of  a  siege  had  armed  these 
warriors  with  the  courage  of  despair.     They  wept,  they 
embraced,  regardless  of  their  families  and  fortunes,  they 
devoted  their  lives,  and  each  commander,  departing  to 
his  station,  maintained  all  night  a  vigilant  and  anxious 

9  watch  on  the  rampart.     The  emperor  and  some  faithful 
companions  entered  the  dome  of  St.  Sophia,  which  in  a 
few  hours  was  to  be  converted  into  a  mosque,  and  de- 
voutly received,  with  tears  and  prayers,  the  sacrament  of 
the  holy  communion.     He  reposed  some  moments  in  the 
palace,  which   resounded  with  cries   and   lamentations, 
solicited  the  pardon  of  all  whom  he  might  have  injured, 
and  mounted  on  horseback  to  visit  the  guards  and  ex- 
plore the  motions  of  the  enemy.     The  distress  and  fall 
of  the  last  Constantine  are  more  glorious  than  the  long 
prosperity  of  the  Byzantine  Caesars.  .  .  . 

10  In  the  confusion  of  darkness  an  assailant  may  some- 
times succeed  ;  but,  in  this  great  and  general  attack,  the 
military  judgment  and  astrological  knowledge  of  Mo- 
hammed advised  him  to  expect  the  morning,  the  memo- 
rable twenty-ninth  of  May,  in  the  fourteen  hundred 
and  fifty-third  year  of  the  Christian  era.  The  preced- 
ing night  had  been  strenuously  employed ;  the  troops, 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  389 

the  cannon,  and  the  fascines,  were  advanced  to  the  edge 
of  the  ditch,  which  in  many  parts  presented  a  smooth  and 
level  passage  to  the  beach ;  and  his  fourscore  galleys  al- 
most touched,  with  the  prows  and  their  scaling-ladders, 
the  less  defensible  walls  of  the  harbor.  Under  pain  of 
death,  silence  was  enjoined  ;  but  the  physical  laws  of 
motion  and  sound  are  not  obedient  to  discipline  or  fear ; 
each  individual  might  suppress  his  voice  and  measure  his 
footsteps ;  but  the  march  and  labor  of  thousands  must  in- 
evitably produce  a  strange  confusion  of  dissonant  clamors, 
which  reached  the  ears  of  the  watchmen  of  the  towers. 
At  day-break,  without  the  customary  signal  of  the  morn-  H 
ing  gun,  the  Turks  assaulted  the  city  by  sea  and  land ; 
and  the  similitude  of  a  twined  or  twisted  thread  has  been 
applied  to  the  closeness  and  continuity  of  their  line  of 
attack.  The  foremost  ranks  consisted  of  the  refuse  of  the 
host,  a  voluntary  crowd  who  fought  without  order  or 
command ;  of  the  feebleness  of  age  or  childhood,  of  peas- 
ants and  vagrants,  and  of  all  who  had  joined  the  camp  in 
the  blind  hope  of  plunder  and  martyrdom.  The  common 
impulse  drove  them  onward  to  the  wall ;  the  most  auda- 
cious to  climb  were  instantly  precipitated  ;  and  not  a  dart, 
not  a  bullet  of  the  Christians  was  idly  wasted  on  the  ac- 
cumulated throng.  But  their  strength  and  ammunition  12 
were  exhausted  in  this  laborious  defense ;  the  ditch  was 
filled  with  the  bodies  of  the  slain ;  they  supported  the 
footsteps  of  their  companions,  and  of  this  devoted  van- 
guard the  death  was  more  serviceable  than  the  life.  Un- 
der their  respective  bashaws  and  sanjaks,  the  troops  of 
Anatolia  and  Romania  were  successively  led  to  the  charge ; 
their  progress  was  various  and  doubtful ;  but,  after  a  con- 
flict of  two  hours,  the  Greeks  still  maintained  and  im- 
proved their  advantage,  and  the  voice  of  the  emperor  was 
heard  encouraging  his  soldiers  to  achieve,  by  a  last  effort, 


390  HISTORICAL   READINGS. 

13  the  deliverance  of  their  country.     In  that  fatal  moment 
the  janizaries  arose,  fresh,  vigorous,  and  invincible.     The 
sultan  himself,  on  horseback,  with  an  iron  mace  in  his 
hand,  was  the  spectator  and  judge  of  their  valor.     He 
was  surrounded  by  ten  thousand  of  his  domestic  troops, 
whom  he  reserved  for  the  decisive  occasions ;  and  the 
tide  of  battle  was  directed  and  impelled  by  his  voice  and 
eye.     His  numerous  ministers  of  justice  were  posted  be- 
hind the  line,  to  urge,  to  restrain,  and  to  punish ;  and,  if 
danger  was  in  the  front,  shame  and  inevitable  death  we  re- 
in the  rear  of  the  fugitives.     The  cries  of  fear  and  of 
pain  were  drowned  in  the  martial  music  of  drums,  trum- 
pets, and  atabals;  and  experience  has  proved  that  the  me- 
chanical operation  of  sounds,  by  quickening  the  circulation 
of  the  blood  and  spirits,  will  act  on  the  human  machine 
more  forcibly  than  the  eloquence  of  reason  and  honor. 

14  From  the  lines,  the  galleys,  and  the  bridge,  the  Ottoman 
artillery  thundered  on  all  sides,  and  the  camp  and  city, 
the  Greeks  and  the  Turks,  were  involved  in  a  cloud  of 
smoke  which  could  only  be  dispelled  by  the  final  deliv- 
erance or  destruction  of  the  Roman  Empire.     The  single 
combats  of  the  heroes  of  history  or  fable  amuse  our  fancy 
and  engage  our  affections;  the  skillful  evolutions  of  war 
inform  the  mind  and  improve  a  necessary  though  per- 
nicious science.    But,  in  the  uniform  and  odious  pictures 
of  a  general  assault,  all  is  blood  and  horror  and  confu- 
sion ;  nor  shall  I  strive,  at  the  distance  of  three  centuries 
and  a  thousand  miles,  to  delineate  a  scene  of  which  there 
could  be  no  spectators,  and  of  which  the  actors  themselves 
were  incapable  of  forming  any  just  or  adequate  idea.  .  .  . 

15  The  immediate  loss  of  Constantinople  may  be  ascribed  to 
the  bullet  or  arrow  which  pierced  the  gauntlet  of  John 
Justinian!.     The  sight  of  his  blood  and  the  exquisite  pain 
appalled  the  courage  of  the  chief,  whose  arms  and  coun- 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  391 

sels  were  the  firmest  rampart  of  the  city.  As  he  with- 
drew from  his  station  in  quest  of  a  surgeon,  his  flight  was 
perceived  and  stopped  by  the  indefatigable  emperor. 
"Your  wound,"  exclaimed  Palseologus,  "is  slight;  the 
danger  is  pressing.  Your  presence  is  necessary,  and 
whither  will  you  retire  ? "  "I  will  retire,"  said  the  trem- 
bling Genoese,  "  by  the  same  road  which  God  has  opened 
to  the  Turks,"  and  at  these  words  he  hastily  passed  through 
one  of  the  breaches  of  the  inner  wall.  By  this  pusillani- 
mous act  he  stained  the  honors  of  a  military  life,  and  the 
few  days  which  he  survived  in  Galata,  or  the  Isle  of 
Chios,  were  embittered  by  his  own  and  the  public  re- 
proach. His  example  was  imitated  by  the  greatest  part 
of  the  Latin  auxiliaries,  and  the  defense  began  to  slacken 
when  the  attack  was  pressed  with  redoubled  vigor. 

The  number  of  the  Ottomans  was  fifty,  perhaps  a  16 
hundred  times  superior  to  that  of  the  Christians  ;  the 
double  walls  were  reduced  by  the  cannon  to  a  heap  of 
ruins ;  in  a  circuit  of  several  miles,  some  places  must  be 
found  more  easy  of  access,  or  more  feebly  guarded  ;  and 
if  the  besiegers  could  penetrate  in  a  single  point,  the 
whole  city  was  irrecoverably  lost.  The  first  who  deserved 
the  sultan's  reward  was  Hassan  the  janizary,  of  gigantic 
stature  and  strength.  With  his  scimetar  in  one  hand  and 
his  buckler  in  the  other  he  ascended  the  outward  fortifica- 
tion ;  of  the  thirty  janizaries  who  were  emulous  of  his  valor, 
eighteen  perished  in  the  bold  adventure.  Hassan  and  his 
twelve  companions  had  reached  the  summit ;  the  giant 
was  precipitated  from  the  rampart ;  he  rose  on  one  knee, 
and  was  again  oppressed  by  a  shower  of  darts  and  stones. 
But  his  success  had  proved  that  the  achievement  was  pos- 17 
sible  ;  the  walls  and  towers  were  instantly  covered  with  a 
swarm  of  Turks,  and  the  Greeks,  now  driven  from  the 
vantage  ground,  were  overwhelmed  by  increasing  multi- 


392  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

tudes.  Ainid  these  multitudes  the  emperor,  who  accom- 
plished all  the  duties  of  a  general  and  a  soldier,  was 
long  seen,  and  finally  lost.  The  nobles,  who  fought  round 
his  person,  sustained,  till  their  last  breath,  the  honorable 
names  of  Palseologus  and  Cantacuzenus ;  his  mournful 
exclamation  was  heard,  "  Can  not  there  be  found  a  Chris- 
tian to  cut  off  iny  head  ? "  and  his  last  fear  was  that  of 
falling  alive  into  the  hands  of  the  infidels.  The  pru- 
dent despair  of  Constantiue  cast  away  the  purple  ;  amid 
the  tumult  he  fell  by  an  unknown  hand,  and  his  body  was 

18  buried  under  a  mountain  of  the  slain.     After  his  death, 
resistance  and  order  were  no  more ;  the  Greeks  fled  tow- 
ard the  city,  and  many  and  many  were  pressed  and  sti- 
fled in  the  narrow  pass  of  the  gate  of  St.  Romanus.     The 
victorious   Turks  rushed   through  the   breaches  of  the 
inner  wall,  and,  as  they  advanced  into  the  streets,  they 
were  soon  joined  by  their  brethren,  who  had  forced  the 
gate  Phenar  on  the  side  of  the  harbor.     In  the  first  heat 
of  the  pursuit  about  two  thousand  Christians  were  put  to 
the  sword  ;  but  avarice  soon  prevailed  over  cruelty,  and 
the  victors  acknowledged  that  they  should  immediately 
have  given  quarter  if  the  valor  of  the  emperor  and  his 
chosen  bands  had  not  prepared  them  for  a  similar  oppo- 

19  sition  in  every  part  of  the  capital.     It  was  thus,  after  a 
siege  of  fifty-three  days,  that  Constantinople,  which  had 
defied  the  power  of  Chosroes,  the  Chagan,  and  the  Ca- 
liphs, was  irretrievably  subdued  by  the  arms  of  Moham- 
med II.     Her  empire  only  had  been  subverted  by  the 
Latins;  her  religion  was  trampled  in  the  dust  by  the 
Moslem  conquerors. 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  393 

WALTHAM  ABBEY.— THE  BURIAL-PLACE  OF  HAROLD, 
LAST  OF  THE  ANGLO-SAXON    KINGS. 

FREEMAN'S  UNOKMAN  CONQUEST." 

The  student  should  compare  this  extract  with  Freeman's  power- 
ful delineation  of  the  last  days  of  William  the  Conqueror,  "Nor- 
man Conquest,"  vol.  iv. 

THIS  brings  us  to  the  other  story  to  which  I  have  al- 1 
ready  alluded,  and  which,  in  its  main  outline,  I  am  pre- 
pared to  accept.  This  is,  that  the  body  of  Harold,  first 
buried  under  the  cairn  by  Hastings,  was  afterward  trans- 
lated to  his  own  minster  at  Waltham.  That  Waltham. 
always  professed  to  be  the  burying-place  of  Harold ;  that 
a  tomb  bearing  his  name  was  shown  there  down  to  the 
dissolution  of  the  abbey ;  that  fragments  of  it  remained 
in  the  seventeenth  century — are  facts  beyond  dispute. 
But  these  local  traditions  would  not,  under  the  circum- 
stances, be  of  themselves  enough  to  lead  us  to  accept  a 
local  claim  which  at  first  sight  seems  to  be  opposed  to 
the  witness  of  contemporary  writers.  But  a  little  exami-  2 
nation  will  show  that  the  two  stories — the  story  of  the 
cairn-burial,  and  the  story  of  the  burial  at  Waltham — are 
not  really  contradictory.  And  there  is  a  mass  of  evi- 
dence of  all  but  the  highest  kind  in  support  of  the  claims 
of  Waltham  to  have  at  last  sheltered  the  bones  of  its 
founder.  I,  then,  accept  the  view  that  the  body  of  Har- 
old, like  the  body  of  Waltheof  ten  years  later,  was  re- 
moved from  a  lowlier  resting-place  to  a  more  honorable 
one — in  short,  from  unhallowed  to  hallowed  ground. 
Waltheof  was  first  buried  on  the  scene  of  his  martyrdom 
by  Winchester,  and  was  afterward  removed  for  more  sol- 
emn burial  in  the  Abbey  of  Oowland.  Such  I  believe  3 
to  have  been  the  case  with  Harold  also.  This  view  rec- 


394  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

onciles  the  main  facts  as  stated  by  all  our  authorities,  and 
it  falls  in  with  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  With 
our  feelings  we  might  wish  that  the  body  of  Harold  had 
tarried  for  ever  under  its  South-Saxon  cairn.  In  Will- 
iam's own  words,  no  worthier  place  of  burial  could  be 
his  than  the  shore  which  he  had  guarded.  But  even 
modern  feelings  would  be  revolted  at  such  a  burial  of 
any  hero  of  our  own  time.  And  in  those  days  the  relig- 
ious feeling  of  Harold's  friends  and  bedesmen  would 
never  be  satisfied  till  their  king  and  founder  slept  in  a 
spot  where  all  the  rites  of  the  church  could  be  offered 
around  him  by  the  hands  of  those  who  were  nourished 

4  by  his  bounty.     Nor  was  it  at  all  unlikely  that  William 
should  relent,  and  should  allow  such  honors  to  be  paid  to 
the  memory  of  his  fallen  rival.     The  first  harsh  order 
exactly  fell  in  with  the  policy  of  the  first  moment  of 
victory.     But,  even  before  the  end  of  the  great  year,  a 
time  came  when  William  might  well  be  disposed  to  listen 
to  milder  counsels.     When  the  Conqueror  had  become 
the  chosen  and  anointed  king  of  the  English,  he  hon- 
estly strove  for  a  moment  to  make  his  rule  as  acceptable 
as  might  be  to  his  English  subjects.     In  those  milder 
days  of  his  earlier  rule  it  would  quite  fall  in  with  Will- 
iam's policy  to  yield  to  any  petition,  either  from  Gytha 
or  from  the  brotherhood  at  Waltham,  praying  for  the 
removal  of  Harold's  body  from  its  unhallowed  resting- 
place.     He  had  then   no   motive  for  harshness.     The 
crown  was  safe  upon  his  own  head ;  he  was  the  acknowl- 
edged successor  of  Edward,  and  he  could  now  afford  to 
be  generous  to  the  memory  of  the  intruder  of  a  moment. 

5  Then  it  was,  as  I  believe,  that  the  body  of  Harold  was 
translated  from  the  cairn  on  the  hill  of  Hastings  to  a 
worthier  tomb  in  his  own  minster  at  Waltham.     There 
the  king  and  founder  was  buried  in  the  place  of  honor 


HISTORICAL   READINGS  396 

by  the  high  altar.  A  later  change  in  the  fabric,  probably 
an  enlargement  of  the  choir,  caused  a  further  translation 
of  his  body.  On  that  occasion  our  local  informant,  a 
subject  of  the  Norman  Henry,  saw  and  handled  the  bones 
of  Harold.  For  his  tomb  we  now  seek  in  vain,  as  we 
seek  in  vain  for  the  tombs  of  most  of  the  noblest  heroes 
of  our  land.  The  devastation  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
and  the  brutal  indifference  of  the  eighteenth,  have  swept 
over  Hyde  and  Glastonbury  and  Waltham  and  Crowland 
and  Evesham,  and  in  their  destroyed  or  ruined  choirs  no 
memory  is  left  of  Alfred  and  Edgar  and  Harold  and  Wal- 
theof  and  Simon  of  Montfort.  But  what  the  men  of  his  6 
own  time  could  do  they  did  ;  the  simple  and  pathetic  tale 
of  the  local  historian  shows  us  how  the  fallen  king  was 
lamented  by  those  who  had  known  and  loved  him,  and 
how  his  memory  lived  among  those  who  had  shared  his 
bounty  without  having  seen  his  face.  Their  affection 
clave  to  him  in  life,  their  reverence  followed  him  in 
death ;  they  braved  the  wrath  of  the  Conqueror  on  his 
behalf ;  they  bore  him  first  to  his  humble  and  unhallowed 
tomb,  and  then  translated  him  to  a  more  fitting  resting- 
place  within  the  noble  fabric  which  his  own  bounty  had 
reared.  .  .  .  Thus  was  the  last  native  king  of  the  Eng- 
lish borne  to  his  last  home  in  his  own  minster.  Only  7 
once  since  that  day  has  "Waltham.  seen  a  royal  corpse, 
but  then  it  was  one  which  was  worthy  to  rest  even  by 
the  side  of  Harold.  Two  hundred  and  forty  years  after 
the  fight  of  Sen  lac  the  body  of  the  great  Edward  was 
borne  with  all  royal  honors  to  a  temporary  resting-place 
in  the  church  of  Waltham.  Harold  was  translated  to 
Waltham  from  a  nameless  tomb  by  the  sea-shore ;  Ed- 
ward was  translated  from  Waltham  to  a  still  more  glori- 
ous resting-place  beneath  the  soaring  vault  of  the  apse  of 
Westminster.  But  for  a  while  the  two  heroes  lay  side  by 


396  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

side — the  last  and  the  first  of  English  kings — between 
whom  none  deserved  the  English  name,  or  could  claim 

8  honor  or  gratitude  from  the  English  nation.     The  one 
was  the  last  king  who  reigned  purely  by  the  will  of  the 
people,  without  any  claim  either  of  conquest  or  of  heredi- 
tary right.     The   other  was  the  first  king  who  reigned 
purely  as  the  son  of  his.  father,  the  first  who  succeeded 
without  competitor  or  interregnum.     But  each  alike,  as 
none  between  them  did,  deserved  the  love  and  trust  of 
the  people  over  whom  they  reigned.     With  Harold  our 
native  kingship  ends;  the  Dragon  of  Wessex  gives  place 
to  the  Leopards  of  Normandy ;  the  crown,  the  laws,  the 
liberties,  the  very  tongue  of  Englishmen,  seem  all  fallen, 
never  to  rise  again.    In  Edward  the  line  of  English  kings 

9  begins  once  more.     After  two  hundred  years  of  foreign 
rule  we  have  again  a  king  bearing  an  English  name  and 
an  English  heart — the  first  to  give  us  back  our  ancient 
laws  under  new  shapes,  the  first,  and  for  so  long  the  lust, 
to  see  that  the  empire  of  his  mighty  namesake  was  a 
worthier  prize  than  shadowy  dreams  of  dominion  beyond 
the  sea.     All  between  them  were  Normans  or  Angevin?, 
careless  of  England   and  her  people.     Another  and  a 
brighter  era  opens,  as  the  lawgiver  of  England,  the  con- 
queror of  Wales  and  Scotland,  seems  like  an  old  Brct- 
walda  or  West-Saxon  Basileus  seated  once  more  upon  the 

10  throne  of  Cerdic  and  of  Athelstan.  The  conqueror  of 
Gruffyd  might  welcome  a  kindred  soul  in  the  conqueror 
of  Llywelyn,  the  victor  of  Stamfordbridge  might  hail  his 
peer  in  the  victor  of  Falkirk ;  the  king  with  whom  Eng- 
land fell  might  greet  his  first  true  successor  in  the  king 
with  whom  she  rose  again.  Such  were  the  men  who  met 
in  death  within  the  now  vanished  choir  of  Waltham. 
And  in  the  whole  course  of  English  history  we  hardly 
come  across  a  scene  which  speaks  more  deeply  to  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  397 

heart  than  when  the  first  founder  of  our  later  greatness 
was  laid  by  the  side  of  the  last  kingly  champion  of  our 
earliest  freedom — when  the  body  of  the  great  Edward 
was  laid,  if  only  for  a  short  space,  by  the  side  of  Harold, 
the  son  of  Godwin. 


THE  STATE  OF  AMERICA  IN   1784. 
M'MASTER'S  "HISTOKY  OF  THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES." 

This  exordium  of  McMaster's  and  his  description  of  u  The  Vir- 
ginia Gentleman  "  are  strikingly  suggestive  of  Macaulay's  exordium 
to  his  '"  History  of  England  "  and  his  sketch  of  the  "English  Coun- 
try Gentleman  of  1688."  The  resemblance  indicated  is  one  of  the 
many  conspicuous  illustrations  of  Macaulay's  influence  upon  suc- 
ceeding writers,  and,  so  far  from  implying  a  censure,  is  creditable  to 
the  taste  and  judgment  of  the  American  historian. 

THE  subject  of  my  narrative  is  the  history  of  the  peo- 1 
pie  of  the  United  States  of  America  from  the  close  of  the 
war  for  independence  down  to  the  opening  of  the  war 
between  the  States.  In  the  course  of  this  narrative 
much,  indeed,  must  be  written  of  wars,  conspiracies,  and 
rebellions  ;  tff  presidents,  of  congresses,  of  embassies,  of 
treaties,  of  the  ambition  of  political  leaders  in  the  senate- 
house,  and  of  the  rise  of  great  parties  in  the  nation.  Yet  2 
the  history  of  the  people  shall  be  the  chief  theme.  At 
every  stage  of  the  splendid  progress  which  separates  the 
America  of  Washington  and  Adams  from  the  America 
in  which  we  live  it  shall  be  my  purpose  to  describe  the 
dress,  the  occupations,  the  amusements,  the  literary  can- 
ons of  the  times ;  to  note  the  changes  of  manners  and 
morals ;  to  trace  the  growth  of  that  humane  spirit  which 
abolished  punishment  for  debt,  which  reformed  the  dis- 
cipline of  prisons  and  of  jails,  and  which  has,  in  our  own, 


398  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

3  time,  lessened  the  miseries  of  dumb  brutes.     Nor  shall  it 
be  less  my  aim  to  recount  the  manifold  improvements 
which,  in  a  thousand  ways,  have  multiplied  the  conven- 
iences of  life  and  ministered  to  the  happiness  of  our  race  ; 
to  describe  the  rise  and  progress  of  that  long  series  of 
mechanical  inventions  and  discoveries  which  is  now  the 
admiration  of  the  world,  and  our  just  pride  and  boast ;  to 
tell  how,  under  the  benign  influence  of  liberty  and  peace, 
there  sprang  up,  in  the  course  of  a  single  century,  a  pros- 
perity unparalleled  in  the  annals  of  human  affairs ;  how 
from  a  state  of  great  poverty  and  feebleness  our  country 
grew  rapidly  to  one  of  opulence  and  power;    how  her 
agriculture   and   her  manufactures  flourished  together ; 
how,  by  a  wise  system  of  free  education  and  a  free  press, 
knowledge  was  disseminated,  and  the  arts  and  sciences 
advanced ;  how  the  ingenuity  of  her  people  became  fruit- 
ful of  wonders  far  more  astonishing  than  any  of  which 

4  the  alchemists  had  ever  dreamed.  .  .  .  Such  a  mingling 
of  social  with  political  history  is  necessary  to  a  correct 
understanding  of  the  peculiar  circumstances  under  which 
our  nation  was  formed  and  grew  up.     Other  people  in 
other  times  have   become  weary  of  their  rulers,  have 
thrown  off  the  yoke,  have  come  out  of  the  house  of  bond- 
age and  set  up  that  form  of  government  which  has  al- 
ways been  thought  the  freest  and  most  perfect.     But  our 
ancestors  were  indeed  a  highly  favored   people.     They 
were  descended  from  the   most   persevering,  the   most 
energetic,  the  most  thrifty  of  races.     They  enjoyed  the 
highest  form  of  civilization ;  their  climate  was  salubrious ; 
their  soil  rich ;  their  country  boundless ;  they  were  ham- 
pered by  no  traditions ;   they  were  surrounded    by   no 
nations  of  whom  they  stood  in  fear.     Almost  alone,  in  a 
new  land,  they  were  free  to  work  out  their  own  form  of 

5  government  in  accordance  with  their  own  will.     The  re- 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  399 

suit  has  been  such  a  moral  and  social  advancement  as  the 
world  has  never  seen  before.  The  Americans  who,  to- 
ward the  close  of  1783,  celebrated,  with  bonfires,  with 
cannon,  and  with  bell-ringing,  the  acknowledgment  of 
independence  and  the  return  of  peace,  lived  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent country  from  that  with  which  their  descendants 
are  familiar.  Indeed,  could  we,  under  the  potent  influ- 
ence of  some  magician's  drugs,  be  carried  back  through 
one  hundred  years,  we  should  find  ourselves  in  a  country 
utterly  new  to  us.  Kip  Van  Winkle,  who  fell  asleep 
when  his  townsmen  were  throwing  up  their  hats  and 
drinking  their  bumpers  to  good  King  George,  and  awoke 
when  a  generation  that  knew  him  not  was  shouting  the 
names  of  men  and  parties  unknown  to  him,  did  not  find 
himself  in  a  land  more  strange.  The  area  of  the  repub-  6 
lie  would  shrink  to  less  than  half  its  present  extent.  The 
number  of  the  States  would  diminish  to  thirteen,  nor 
would  many  of  them  be  contained  in  their  present  limits 
or  exhibit  their  present  appearance.  Yast  stretches  of  up- 
land, which  are  now  an  endless  succession  of  wheat-fields 
and  corn-fields  and  orchards,  would  appear  overgrown 
with  dense  forests  abandoned  to  savage  beasts  and  yet 
more  savage  men.  The  hamlets  of  a  few  fishermen  would 
mark  the  sites  of  wealthy  havens  now  bristling  with  in- 
numerable masts,  and  the  great  cities  themselves  would 
dwindle  to  dimensions  scarce  exceeding  those  of  some 
rude  settlement  far  to  the  west  of  the  Colorado  Kiver. 
Of  the  inventions  and  discoveries  which  abridge  distance,  7 
which  annihilate  time,  which  save  labor,  which  transmit 
speech,  which  turn  the  darkness  of  night  into  the  bril- 
liancy of  the  day,  which  alleviate  pain,  which  destroy  dis- 
ease, which  lighten  even  the  infirmities  of  age,  not  one 
existed.  Fulton  was  still  a  portrait-painter.  Fitch  and 
Rumsey  had  not  yet  begun  to  study  the  steam-engine. 


400  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

"Whitney  had  not  yet  gone  up  to  college.  Howe  and 
Morse,  M'Cormick  and  Fairbanks,  Goodyear  and  Colt, 
8  Dr.  Morton  and  Dr.  Bell,  were  yet  to  be  born.  ...  By 
the  treaty  which  secured  the  independence  of  the  colo- 
nies the  boundaries  of  the  region  given  up  by  the  mother 
country  were  clearly  defined.  The  territory  ceded 
stretched  from  the  Atlantic  Ocean  westward  to  the  banks 
of  the  Mississippi,  and  from  a  line  running  along  the 
great  lakes  on  the  north  it  spread  southward  to  the  thirty- 
first  parallel  and  the  southern  border  of  Georgia.  This 
vast  tract  was  parceled  out  among  the  thirteen  original 
States.  Of  the  thirteen,  seven  had  well-defined  bounda- 
ries ;  of  the  remaining  six,  some  laid  claim  to  lands  since 
given  to  other  States,  while  a  few  would  content  them- 
selves with  no  limits  short  of  the  waters  of  the  Missis- 
gsippi  River.  But,  though  the  Fourth-of- J  uly  orators 
then  boasted  that  their  country  extended  over  fifteen 
hundred  miles  in  length,  and  spread  westward  across 
plains  of  marvelous  fertility  into  regions  yet  unexplored 
by  man,  they  had  but  to  look  about  them  to  see  that  the 
States  were  indeed  but  little  better  than  a  great  wilder- 
ness. A  narrow  line  of  towns  and  hamlets  extended, 
with  many  breaks,  along  the  coast  from  the  province  of 
Maine  to  Georgia.  Maine  was  still  owned  by  Massachu- 
setts, and  did  not  contain  one  hundred  thousand  souls. 
Portland  existed,  then  Falmouth,  and  along  the  shore 
were  a  few  fishers1  cots,  built  of  rough -hewn  logs  and 
10  thatched  with  sea- weed.  But  an  almost  unbroken  soli- 
tude lay  between  Portsmouth  and  the  St.  Lawrence.  In 
New  Hampshire  a  few  hardy  adventurers  had  marked 
out  the  sites  of  villages  in  the  White  Mountains.  In  New 
York,  Albany  was  settled,  and  Schenectady ;  but  the  rich 
valleys  through  which  the  Mohawk  and  the  Genesee  flow 
down  to  join  the  Hudson  and  the  lake  were  the  hunting- 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  4O1 

grounds  of  the  Oneidas,  the  Mohawks,  and  the  Cayugas. 
In  Pennsylvania,  dense  forests  and  impassable  morasses 
covered  that  region  where  rich  deposits  of  iron  and  of 
coal  have  since  produced  the  Birmingham  of  America. 
In  Virginia  a  straggling  village  or  two  was  to  be  found  11 
about  the  head-waters  of  the  Potomac  and  the  James. 
Beyond  the  Blue  Ridge,  Daniel  Boone  was  fighting  the 
Cherokees  in  the  canebrakes  of  Kentucky.  Some  vil- 
lages of  log  huts,  surrounded  by  stockades,  were  rising  on 
the  fertile  plains  of  western  Tennessee.  A  handful  of 
pioneers  had  settled  at  Natchez.  Pittsburg  was  a  mili- 
tary post.  St.  Louis  was  begun,  but  the  very  name  of 
the  village  was  unknown  to  nine  tenths  of  the  Ameri- 
cans. So  late  as  1795  Cincinnati  consisted  of  ninety-five 
log  cabins  and  five  hundred  souls.  In  truth,  that  splen-12 
did  section  of  our  country  drained  by  the  Ohio  and  the 
Tennessee  was  one  vast  solitude.  Buffaloes  wandered  in 
herds  over  the  rich  plains  now  the  granaries  of  Europe. 
Forests  of  oak  and  sycamore  grew  thick  on  the  site  of 
many  great  and  opulent  cities  whose  population  now  ex- 
ceeds that  of  Virginia  during  the  Revolution,  and  whose 
names  are  spoken  in  the  remotest  corner  of  the  civilized 
world.  No  white  man  had  yet  beheld  the  source  of  the 
Mississippi  River.  Of  the  country  beyond  the  Missis- 
sippi little  more  was  knovrn  flv.n  of  the  heart  of  Africa. 
Now  and  then  some  weather-beaten  trapper  came  from  it  13 
to  the  frontiers  of  the  States  with  stories  of  great  plains 
as  level  as  the  floor,  where  the  grass  grew  higher  than  the 
waist,  where  the  flowers  were  more  beautiful  than  in  the 
best-kept  garden,  where  trees  were  never  seen,  and  where 
the  Indians  still  looked  upon  the  white  man  as  a  god.  But 
this  country  lay  far  to  the  west  of  the  frontier,  and  the 
frontier  was  wilder  then  than  Wyoming  is  now.  There 
the  white  man  lived  in  an  unending  war  with  the  red  man. 


402  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

SOCRATES.— INFLUENCE   OF   HIS  TEACHING. 
OROTE'S  "HISTORY  OF  GREECE." 

The  student  should  read  the  whole  of  Grote's  famous  chapter  on 
Socrates — "History  of  Greece,"  vol.  viii — and  then  carefully  study 
Spedding's  edition  of  "  Sir  Francis  Bacon,"  or  the  analysis  of  his 
philosophy  contained  in  Morley's  "  First  Sketch  of  English  Litera- 
ture," or  Arnold's  "English  Literature."  Ueberweg's  "  History  of 
Philosophy  "  will  be  found  especially  valuable.  This  extract  is  in- 
serted with  the  hope  of  inducing  a  thorough  examination  of  the  life 
and  character  of  Socrates,  his  mode  of  teaching,  his  influence  upon 
ethical  philosophy,  of  which  he  may  be  called  the  founder — a  sub- 
ject abounding  in  interest  as  well  as  instruction. 

1  THUS  perished  the  "  Father  of  Philosophy,"  the  first 
of  ethical  philosophers ;  a  man  who  opened  to  science 
both  new  matter,  alike  copious  and  valuable,  and  a  new 
method,  memorable  not  less  for  its  originality  and  effi 
cacy  than  for  the  profound  philosophical  basis  on  which 
it  rests.     Though  Greece  produced  great  poets,  orators, 
speculative  philosophers,  historians,  etc.,  yet  other  coun- 
tries, having  the  benefit  of  Grecian  literature  to  begin 
with,  have  nearly  equaled  her  in  all  these  lines,  and  sur- 
passed her  in  some.     But  where  are  we  to  look  for  a 
parallel  to  Socrates,  either   in   or   out  of   the  Grecian 

2  world  ?    The  cross-examining  Elenchus,  which  he  not  only 
first  struck  out,  but  wielded  with  such  matchless  effect 
and  to  such  noble  purpose,  has  been  mute  ever  since  his 
last  conversation  in  the  prison ;  for  even  his  great  suc- 
cessor, Plato,  was  a  writer  and  lecturer,  not  a  colloquial 
dialectician.     No  man  has  ever  been  found  strong  enough 
to  bend  his  bow,  of  much  less  sure  enough  to  use  it  as  he 
did.     His  life  remains  as  the  only  evidence,  but  a  very 
satisfactory  evidence,  of  how  much  can  be  done  by  this 
sort  of  intelligent  interrogation,   how  powerful  is  the 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  4O3 

interest  which  it  can  be  made  to  inspire,  how  energetic 
the  stimulus  which  it  can  apply  in  awakening  dormant 
reason  and  generating  new  mental  power. 

It  has  often  been  customary  to  exhibit  Socrates  as  a  3 
moral  preacher,  in  which  character  probably  he  has  ac- 
quired to  himself  the  general  reverence  attached  to  his 
name.  This  is  indeed  a  true  attribute,  but  not  the 
characteristic  or  salient  attribute,  nor  that  by  which  he 
permanently  worked  on  mankind.  On  the  other  hand, 
Arkesilaus  and  the  New  Academy,  a  century  and  more 
afterward,  thought  that  they  were  following  the  example 
of  Socrates  (and  Cicero  seems  to  have  thought  so  too) 
when  they  reasoned  against  everything,  and  when  they 
laid  it  down  as  a  system  that  against  every  affirmative 
position  an  equal  force  of  negative  argument  might  be 
brought  up  as  counterpoise.  Now,  this  view  of  Socrates  4 
is,  in  my  judgment,  not  merely  partial,  but  incorrect. 
He  entertained  no  such  systematic  distrust  of  the  powers 
of  the  mind  to  attain  certainty.  He  laid  down  a  clear, 
though  erroneous,  line  of  distinction  between  the  know- 
able  and  the  unknowable.  About  physics  he  was  more 
than  a  skeptic ;  he  thought  that  man  could  know  nothing ; 
the  gods  did  not  intend  that  man  should  acquire  any 
such  information,  and  therefore  managed  matters  in  such 
a  way  as  to  be  beyond  his  ken  for  all  except  the  simplest 
phenomena  of  daily  wants ;  moreover,  not  only  man  could 
not  acquire  such  information,  but  ought  not  to  labor 
after  it.  But,  respecting  the  topics  which  concern  man  5 
and  society,  the  views  of  Socrates  were  completely  the 
reverse.  This  was  the  field  which  the  gods  had  ex- 
pressly assigned,  not  merely  to  human  practice,  but  to 
human  study  and  acquisition  of  knowledge  —  a  field 
wherein,  with  that  view,  they  managed  phenomena  on 
principles  of  constant  and  observable  sequence,  so  that 
27 


404  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

every  man  who  took  the  requisite  pains  might  know 
them.  Nay,  Socrates  went  a  step  farther,  and  this  for- 
ward step  is  the  fundamental  conviction  upon  which  all 

6  his  missionary  impulse  hinges.     He  thought  that  every 
man  not  only  might  know  these  things,  but  ought  to 
know  them ;  that  he  could  not  possibly  act  well  unless 
he  did  know  them ;  and  that  it  was  his  imperious  duty 
to  learn  them  as  he  would  learn  a  profession ;  otherwise, 
he  was  nothing  better  than  a  slave,  unfit  to  be  trusted  as 
a  free  and  accountable  being.     Socrates  felt  persuaded 
that  no  man  could  behave  as  a  just,  temperate,  courage- 
ous, pious,  patriotic  agent  unless  he  taught  himself  to 
know  correctly  what  justice,  temperance,  courage,  piety, 
and  patriotism  really  were.     He  was  possessed  with  the 
truly  Baconian  idea  that  the  power  of  steady  moral  ac- 
tion depended  upon,  and  was  limited  by,  the  rational  coin- 

7  prehension  of  moral  ends  and   means.      But,  when  he 
looked  at  the  minds  around  him,  he  perceived  that  few 
or  none  either  had  any  such  comprehension,  or  had  ever 
studied  to  acquire  it ;  yet  at  the  same  time  every  man 
felt  persuaded  that  he  did  possess  it,  and  acted  confident- 
ly upon  such  persuasion.      Here,  then,  Socrates  found 
that  the  first  outwork  for  him   to   surmount  was  that 
universal  "conceit  of  knowledge  without  the  reality," 
against  which  he  declares  such  emphatic  war,  and  against 
which,  also,  though  under  another  form  of  words  and  in 
reference  to  other  subjects,  Bacon  declares  war  not  less 
emphatically  two  thousand  years  afterward.      Socrates 
went  to  work  in  the  Baconian  manner  and  spirit,  bring- 
ing his  cross-examining  process  to  bear,  as  the  first  con 
dition  to  all  further  improvement,  upon  those  rude,  self- 
begotten,  incoherent  generalizations  which  passed  in  men's 

8  minds  for  competent  and  directing  knowledge.     But  he, 
not  less  than  Bacon,  performs  this  analysis,  not  with  a 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  4O3 

view  to  finality  in  the  negative,  but  as  the  first  stage 
toward  an  ulterior  profit — as  the  preliminary  purification 
indispensable  to  future  positive  result.  If,  then,  the 
philosophers  of  the  New  Academy  considered  Socrates 
either  as  a  skeptic  or  as  a  partisan  of  systematic  nega- 
tion, they  misinterpreted  his  character  and  mistook  the 
first  stage  of  his  process — that  which  Plato,  Bacon,  and 
Herschel  call  the  purification  of  the  intellect — for  the 
ultimate  goal.  The  Elenchus,  as  Socrates  used  it,  was 
animated  by  the  truest  spirit  of  positive  science,  and 
formed  an  indispensable  precursor  to  its  attainment.  ...  9 
The  method  of  Socrates  yet  survives,  as  far  as  such 
method  can  survive,  in  some  of  the  dialogues  of  Plato. 
It  is  a  process  of  eternal  value  and  of  universal  applica- 
tion. The  purification  of  the  intellect,  which  Bacon 
signalized  as  indispensable  for  rational  or  scientific  prog- 
ress, the  Socratic  Elenchus  affords  the  only  known  instru- 
ment for  at  least  partially  accomplishing.  However  little 
that  instrument  may  have  been  applied  since  the  death 
of  its  inventor,  the  necessity  and  use  of  it  neither  have 
disappeared,  nor  ever  can  disappear.  There  are  few  10 
men  whose  minds  are  not  more  or  less  in  that  state  of 
sham  knowledge  against  which  Socrates  made  war ;  there 
is  no  man  whose  notions  have  not  been  first  got  together 
by  spontaneous,  unexamined,  unconscious,  uncertified  as- 
sociation, resting  upon  forgotten  particulars,  blending  to- 
gether disparates  or  inconsistencies,  and  leaving  in  his 
mind  old  and  familiar  phrases  and  oracular  propositions, 
of  which  he  has  never  rendered  to  himself  account ;  there 
is  no  man  who,  if  he  be  destined  for  vigorous  and  profit- 
able scientific  effort,  has  not  found  it  a  necessary  branch 
of  self  education  to  break  up,  disentangle,  analyze,  and 
reconstruct  these  ancient  mental  compounds,  and  who 
has  not  been  driven  to  do  it  by  his  own  lame  and  solitary 


406  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

efforts,  since  the  giant  of  the  colloquial  Elenchus  no 
longer  stands  in  the  market-place  to  lend  him  help  and 

11  stimulus.  ...  To  hear  of  any  man,  especially  of  so  illus- 
trious a  man,  being  condemned  to  death  on  such  accusa- 
tions as  that  of  heresy  and  alleged  corruption  of  youth, 
inspires  at  the  present  day  a  sentiment  of  indignant  rep- 
robation, the  force  of  which  I  have  no  desire  to  enfee- 
ble. The  fact  stands  eternally  recorded  as  one  among 
the  thousand  misdeeds  of  intolerance,  religious  and  politi- 

12cal.  But  since  amid  this  catalogue  each  item  has  its 
own  peculiar  character,  grave  or  light,  we  are  bound  to 
consider  at  what  point  of  the  scale  the  condemnation  of 
Socrates  is  to  be  placed,  and  what  inferences  it  justifies 
in  regard  to  the  character  of  the  Athenians.  Now,  if  we 
examine  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  we  shall  find  them 
all  extenuating,  and  so  powerful,  indeed,  as  to  reduce  such 
inferences  to  their  minimum,  consistent  with  the  general 
class  to  which  the  incident  belongs. 


THE  STATE  OF  AMERICA  IN    1784.— CONDITION  OF 
LITERATURE. 

M'MASTER'S  "HISTORY  OF  THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES." 

Tyler's  "History  of  American  Literature"  may  also  be  read 
with  great  advantage  by  the  student  of  American  history.  It  is 
admirably  shown  in  this  section  from  M' Master  how  thoroughly 
the  growth  of  literature  enters  into  the  very  heart  of  a  nation's 
history.  Literature  is  the  most  faithful  expression  of  national  life. 

1  THERE  is,  in  fact,  no  portion  of  our  literary  annals 
which  presents  a  spectacle  of  so  much  dreariness  as  the 
one  hundred  and  sixty  years  which  followed  the  landing 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  4O7 

of  the  Pilgrims  (A.  D.  1620).  In  all  that  time  scarcely 
any  work  of  the  imagination  was  produced  which  pos- 
terity has  not  willingly  let  die.  It  would  be  a  hard  task 
to  the  most  assiduous  compiler  to  glean  from  the  litera- 
ture of  that  period  material  enough  to  make  what  would 
now  be  thought  a  readable  book.  A  few  poems  of  the  2 
"  Tenth  Muse,"  an  odd  chapter  from  the  "  Magnalia 
Christi,"  a  page  or  two  from  the  essay  on  "  The  Freedom 
of  the  Will,"  some  lyrics  of  Hopkinson,  a  satire  by  Trum- 
bull,  a  pamphlet  by  Paine,  would  almost  complete  the 
book,  and,  when  completed,  it  would  not  be  a  very  large 
volume,  nor  one  of  a  very  high  order  of  merit.  It  would 
not  be  worth  fifty  lines  of  "  Evangeline,"  nor  the  half  of 
"  Thanatopsis."  The  men  whose  writings  now  form  our  3 
national  literature,  the  men  we  are  accustomed  to  revere 
as  intellectual  patriarchs,  all  of  whose  works  have  be- 
come classics,  belong,  without  exception,  to  the  genera- 
tion which  followed  the  Revolution.  Irving  was  not  a 
year  old  when  peace  was  declared,  Cooper  was  born  in  the 
same  year  that  Washington  went  into  office,  Halleck  one 
year  later,  Prescott  in  the  year  Washington  came  out  of 
oflSce.  The  Constitution  was  five  years  old  when  Bryant 
was  born.  The  first  year  of  the  present  century  witnessed 
the  birth  of  Bancroft,  and,  before  another  decade  had 
come  and  gone,  Emerson  was  born,  and  Willis,  and  Long- 
fellow, and  Whittier,  and  Holmes,  and  Hawthorne,  and 
Poe.  Before  the  year  1825  was  reached,  "  Thanatopsis  "  4 
was  published,  Motley  was  born,  "  The  Spy,"  "  The  Pio- 
neer," and  "  The  Pilot "  were  written,  and  Drake,  after  a 
short  and  splendid  career,  was  carried  with  honor  to  the 
frrave.  Scarcely  a  twelvemonth  went  by  unmarked  b^ 
the  birth  of  a  man  long  since  renowned  in  the  domain  of 
letters. 

It  may  at  first  sight  seem  strange  that,  after  so  many  5 


408  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

years  of  intellectual  weakness,  of  feeble  tottering,  and  of 
blind  gropings,  there  should  suddenly  have  appeared  so 
great  a  crowd  of  poets  and  novelists,  historians  and  essay- 
ists, following  hard  upon  the  war  for  independence.  But 
the  fact  is  merely  another  illustration  of  a  great  truth 
with  which  the  history  of  every  people  is  replete  with 
examples — the  truth  that  periods  of  national  commotion, 
disorder,  and  contention  are  invariably  followed  by  periods 

6  of  intellectual  activity.     Whatever  can  turn  the  minds  of 
men  from  the  channels  in  which  they  have  been  long 
running,  and  stir  them  to  their  inmost  depths,  has  never 
yet  failed  to  produce  most  salutary  and  lasting  results. 
The  age  of  Pericles,  of  Augustus,  of  Leo  and  Elizabeth, 
of  Louis  Quatorze,  and  the  splendors  of  the  reign  of  Fer- 
dinand, are  but  so  many  instances  in  point.     The  same  is 
true  of  our  own  land.    For  the  first  time  since  white  men 
began  to  inhabit  America  the  colonists  were  united  in  a 
common  league  against  a  common  foe.     For  seven  years 

7  the  strife  continued.     When  it  ended,  yet  another  seven 
years  followed,  during  which  the  fury  of  war  gave  way 
to  the  rage  of  faction.     There  was  never  a  moment  of 
rest.     No  sooner  was  one  storm  over  than  another  ap- 
peared on  the  horizon.     Yet  here  again  years  of  national 
commotion  were  followed  by  years  of  great  mental  ac- 
tivity, the  like  of  which  our  country  had  never  witnessed 
before.     Yet  again  were  the  evils  of  war  succeeded  by 
the  fruits  of  genius.     Our  ancestors  were  therefore,  in 
1781,  shut  out  from  the  only  native  authors  whose  writ- 

8  ings  are  by  this  generation  thought  worthy  to  read.    They 
possessed  no  poets  better  than  Philip  Freeneau  and  Timo- 
thy Dwight.     No  novelist,  no  dramatist,  no  really  great 
historian,  had   yet  arisen.     Among  the  living  statesmen 
none  had  as  yet  produced  anything  more  enduring  than 
a  political  pamphlet  or  a  squib.     Hamilton  and  Madison 


HISTORICAL  READINGS.  4O9 

and  Jay  had  not  begun  that  noble  series  of  essays  which 
finds  no  parallel  in  the  English  language  save  in  the  "  Let- 
ters of  Junius."  A  knowledge  of  German,  of  Italian,  9 
and  of  Spanish  was  not  considered  a  necessary  part  of  the 
education  of  a  gentleman.  Men  of  parts  and  refinement 
listened  in  astonishment  to  the  uncouth  gutturals  in  which 
the  officers  of  the  Hessian  troops  commanded  their  men 
to  "  carry  arms "  and  to  "  right  wheel."  All,  therefore, 
who  did  not  understand  French,  and  they  made  up  the 
majority  of  readers,  were  of  necessity  compelled  to  peruse 
the  works  of  English  authors,  or  to  read  nothing,  or  what 
was  worse  than  nothing.  They  filled  their  library-shelves, 
as  a  consequence,  with  volumes  which  are  at  this  day 
much  more  admired  than  studied.  The  incomparable  10 
letters  of  Philip  Francis  to  Woodfall  were  imitated  by 
numberless  pamphleteers,  who,  over  the  signature  of  Cas- 
sius  or  Brutus,  reviled  the  Cincinnati,  or  set  forth  most 
urgent  reasons  why  no  Tory  refugee  should  ever  again 
be  allowed  to  find  a  footing  on  American  soil.  Damsels 
envious  of  distinction  as  correspondents  made  themselves 
familiar  with  the  polished  diction  and  pure  English  of 
the  "Spectators"  and  the  "  Tatlers."  Nor  were  they 
ignorant  of  many  books  which  no  woman  would  now, 
without  a  blush,  own  to  having  read.  The  adventures 
of  Peregrine  Pickle  and  Roderick  Random  were  as 
well  known  to  the  women  of  that  generation  as  were 
those  of  Leatherstocking  to  the  women  of  the  succeed- 
ing. It  would,  however,  be  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  11 
that  they  read  no  novels  of  a  less  objectionable  character 
than  "  Tom  Jones  "  and  "  Tristram  Shandy."  The  lighter 
literature  of  England  had  long  been  growing  purer  and 
purer.  The  reproach  which  from  the  time  of  Fielding 
and  Smollett  had  lain  on  the  novel  was  rapidly  passing 
away.  Even  among  grave  and  reflecting  people  the  feel- 


410  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

ing  against  all  works  of  fiction  was  far  less  strong  than  it 
had  been  when,  a  few  years  before,  Sir  Anthony  Abso- 
lute pronounced  the  circulating  library  to  be  an  evergreen- 
12  tree  of  diabolical  knowledge.  "  Evelina  "  and  "  Camilla  " 
had  appeared,  had  been  read  with  admiration,  and  had 
shown  that  a  popular  novel  might  be  written  without  an 
amour  or  a  debauch.  From  letters  and  journals  still  ex- 
tant, it  should  seem  that,  with  the  exception  of  the  few 
novels  named,  the  staple  reading  was  of  a  serious  charac- 
ter. After  years  of  patient  toil,  Gibbon  had  lately  put 
forth  the  third  volume  of  his  majestic  work  ;  Robertson 
had  published  the  first  readable  history  of  America. 


WASHINGTON    RESIGNS    HIS   COMMISSION    (DECEM- 
BER,   1783). 

M'MASTER'S  "  HISTORY  OF  THE  PEOPLE  OP  THE  UNITED  STATES." 

There  would  seem  to  be  an  eminent  propriety,  especially  at  this 
time  (December,  1883),  in  concluding  the  "  Historical  Reader''  with 
an  account  of  Washington's  resignation  of  his  commission,  which 
occurred  just  a  hundred  years  ago,  December  23,  1783. 

1  WHEN  the  year  1 784  opened,  the  revolution  had  been 
accomplished.     The  preliminary  articles  had  been  signed 
on  the  thirtieth  of  November,  1782,  and  the  return  of 
peace  everywhere  celebrated  with  bonfires,  with  rockets, 
with  speeches,  and  with  thanksgiving  on  the  nineteenth 
of  April,  the  eighth  anniversary  of  the  fight  at  Lexing- 
ton.    The  definitive  treaty  had  been  signed  at  Paris  on 
the  third  of  September,  1783,  and  was  soon  to  be  ratified 

2  by  the  United  States  in  Congress  assembled.     The  last 
remnant  of  the  British  army  in  the  east  had  sailed  down 


HISTORICAL   READINGS.  411 

the  Narrows  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  November,  a  day 
which,  under  the  appellation  of  Evacuation  Day,  was 
long  held  in  grateful  remembrance  by  the  inhabitants  of 
[New  York,  and  was,  till  a  few  years  since,  annually  cele- 
brated with  fireworks  and  with  military  display.*  Of 
the  Continental  army  scarce  a  remnant  was  then  in  the 
service  of  the  States,  and  these  few  were  under  the  com- 
mand of  General  Knox.  His  great  work  of  deliverance  3 
over,  Washington  had  resigned  his  commission,  had  gone 
back  to  his  estate  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac,  and 
was  deeply  engaged  with  plans  for  the  improvement  of 
his  plantation.  The  retirement  to  private  life  of  the 
American  Fabius,  as  the  newspapers  delighted  to  call 
him,  had  been  attended  by  many  pleasing  ceremonies, 
and  had  been  made  the  occasion  for  new  manifestations 
of  affectionate  regard  by  the  people.  The  same  day  that  4 
witnessed  the  departure  of  Sir  Guy  Carleton  from  New 
York  also  witnessed  the  entry  into  that  city  of  the  army 
of  the  States.  Nine  days  later,  Washington  bid  adieu  to 
his  officers.  About  noon  on  Thursday,  the  fourth  of  De- 
cember, the  chiefs  of  the  army  assembled  in  the  great 
room  of  Fraunces's  Tavern,  then  the  resort  of  merchants 
and  men  of  fashion,  and  there  Washington  joined  them. 
Rarely  as  he  gave  way  to  his  emotions,  he  could  not  on 
that  day  get  the  mastery  of  them.  As  he  beheld  drawn  5 
up  before  him  the  men  who,  for  eight  long  years,  had 
shared  with  him  the  perils  and  hardships  of  the  war,  he 
was  deeply  moved.  He  filled  a  glass  from  a  decanter 
that  stood  on  the  table,  raised  it  with  a  trembling  hand, 
and  said :  "  With  a  heart  full  of  love  and  gratitude  I  now 
take  leave  of  you,  and  most  devoutly  wish  your  latter 
days  may  be  as  prosperous  and  happy  as  your  former 
ones  have  been  glorious  and  honorable."  Then  he  drank 

*  Evacuation  Day  was  celebrated  in  New  York,  November  25,  1883. 


412  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

to  them,  and,  after  a  pause,  said :  "  I  can  not  come  to 
each  of  you  to  take  my  leave,  but  shall  be  obliged  if  you 

6  will  each  come  and  shake  me  by  the  hand."     Gent-nil 
Knox  came  forward  first,  and  Washington  embraced  him. 
The  other  officers  approached  one  by  one,  and  silently 
took  their  leave.     A  line  of  infantry  had  been  drawn  up 
extending  from  the  tavern  to  Whitehall  Ferry,  where  a 
barge  was  in  waiting  to  carry  the  commander  across  the 
Hudson  to  Paulus  Hook.     Washington,  with  his  officers 
following,  walked  down  the  line  of  soldiers  to  the  water. 
The  streets,  the  balconies,  the  windows  were  crowded 
with  gazers.     All  the  churches  in  the  city  sent  forth  a 
joyous  din.     Arrived  at  the  ferry,  he  entered  the  barge 
in  silence,  stood  up,  took  off  his  hat,  and  waved  farewell. 

7  Then,  as  the  boat  moved  slowly  out  into  the  stream  amid 
the  shouts  of  the  citizens,  his  companions  in  arms  stood 
bareheaded  on  the  shore  till  the  form  of  their  illustrious 
commander  was  lost  to  view.     From  Paulus  Hook  he 
journeyed  by  easy  stages  to  Annapolis,  where  Congress 
was  then  in  session.    The  news  of  his  approach  was  spivud 
throughout  the  country  by  the  post-riders,  and  the  many 
villages  and  towns  that  lay  along  his  route  vied  with  each 
other  in  doing  him  honor.     At  every  step  he  was  met  by 
committees  from  the  selectmen,  who,  in  addresses  full  of 
allusion  to  Cincinnatus,  thanked  him  for  the  great  things 
he  had  done  for  his  country,  and  assured  him  of  the  un- 

8  dying  love   and  gratitude  of   his   fellow-citizens.     Ad- 
dresses of  congratulation  and  thanks  were  voted  by  the 
Legislatures  of  New  Jersey,  of  Pennsylvania,  and  of  Mary- 
land.    The  American  Philosophical  Society  at  Philadel- 
phia turned  from  the  consideration  of  learned  papers  on 
Improved  Methods  of  Quilling  a  Harpsichord,  and  Ob- 
servations on  the  Torporific  Eel,  to  do  homage  to  the 
great  chief,  and  their  example  was  speedily  followed  by 


EISTORICAL   READINGS.  413 

innumerable  religious  and  mercantile  organizations  in  the 
State.  It  was  not  till  Friday,  the  nineteenth  of  the 
month,  that  he  reached  Annapolis.  Gates  and  Small- 9 
wood,  who  had  served  under  him  in  the  war,  met  him, 
with  many  of  the  chief  characters  of  the  place,  a  few 
miles  from  the  city  and  escorted  him  to  town.  As  he 
entered  the  streets  his  arrival  was  made  known  to  the 
citizens  by  the  discharge  of  cannon.  On  Monday,  Con- 
gress gave  him  a  dinner  in  the  ball-room,  w^here  toasts 
were  drunk  to  the  United  States,  to  the  army,  to  the  most 
Christian  King,  to  the  Peace  Commissioners,  and  to  the 
virtuous  daughters  of  America.  When  night  came,  the 
Stadt-house  was  lit  up,  and  a  ball  given  by  the  General 
Assembly.  The  day  following  his  arrival  he  dispatched  10 
a  letter  to  Congress  announcing  his  wish  to  resign  his 
commission,  and  asking  that  he  might  be  informed  in 
what  manner  it  would  be  most  proper  to  tender  his  resig- 
nation :  whether  in  writing,  or  at  a  public  audience  of 
Congress.  General  Mifflin  replied  that  it  should  be  at  a 
public  audience  of  Congress,  and  appointed  noon  of  the 
twenty-third  of  December,  1783,  for  the  ceremony.  In 
the  mean  time  a  committee  was  appointed  to  make  such 
preparations  as  the  occasion  seemed  to  require.  On  the 
committee  were  Jefferson,  who  sat  for  Virginia ;  Gerry, 
who  represented  Massachusetts  ;  and  Mclienry,  who  cast 
his  vote  in  the  name  of  the  State  of  Maryland.  Long  11 
before  the  hour  on  the  twenty-third  the  gallery  and  floor 
of  the  hall  of  Congress  were  filled  with  ladies,  with  high 
functionaries  of  the  State,  and  with  many  officers  of  the 
army  and  navy.  The  members  of  the  House,  twenty  in 
number,  were  seated  and  covered  as  representatives  of 
the  sovereignty  of  the  Union.  The  gentlemen  present 
were  standing  and  uncovered.  At  noon  Washington  was 
announced,  and  escorted  by  the  Secretary  of  Congress  to 


414  HISTORICAL  READINGS. 

a  seat  which  had  been  made  ready  for  him  in  front  of  the 
President's  chair.  After  a  short  silence  General  Mifflin 
informed  him  that  the  United  States  in  Congress  assem- 

12  bled  were  prepared  to  receive  his  communication.    Wash- 
ington then  arose,  and,  with  that   dignified  composure 
which  never  deserted  him  even  when  musket-balls  and 
cannon-shots  were  whistling  around  him,  delivered  a  short 
and  solemn  address,  which  of  all  his  writings  is  most  fa- 

13  miliar  to  the  men  of  this  generation.    Having  returned  his 
commission  into  the  hands  of  the  President,  that  official 
thanked  him,  in  the  name  of  the  people  of  the  United 
States,  for  the  patriotism  with  which  he  had  responded  to 
the  call  of  his  country,  and  the  ability  with  which  he  had  de- 
fended her  invaded  rights.    "  You  retire,"  said  he,  u  from 
the  theatre  of  action  with  the  blessings  of  your  fellow- 
citizens,  but  the  glory  of  your  virtues  will  not  terminate 
with  your  military  command  ;  it  will  continue  to  animate 

14  the  remotest  ages."     The  same  evening  Washington  bid 
adieu  to  Annapolis,  and,  attended  by  the  Governor  of 
Maryland  to  the  confines  of  the  State,  made  all  speed 
toward  Mount  Vernon,  which  he  reached  on  Christmas- 
eve. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES  OF  THE  AUTHORS  REP- 
RESENTED IN  THE  HISTORICAL  READINGS, 


DR.  THOMAS  ARNOLD  (1795-1842),  the  famous  Head- 
Master  of  Rugby  School,  England,  attained  an  eminent 
rank  as  an  historian  by  his  "  History  of  Rome,"  a  work 
characterized  by  great  fairness  of  judgment,  by  solid  learn- 
ing, and  by  the  purest  moral  tone.  His  "  Lectures  on  Mod- 
ern History,"  delivered  while  Professor  of  Modern  History 
in  the  University  of  Oxford,  during  the  latter  part  of  his 
life,  are  distinguished  by  the  same  high  qualities  that  mark 
his  "  History  of  Rome."  No  man  in  this  century  has  done 
more  than  Dr.  Arnold  to  elevate  the  character  of  educa- 
tion, especially  to  instill  into  young  men  higher  and  nobler 
conceptions  of  duty  and  of  personal  responsibility.  The 
student  is  advised  to  read  Dean  Stanley's  "  Life  and  Letters 
of  Dr.  Arnold,"  an  intensely  interesting  biography,  and 
"Tom  Brown  at  Rugby,"  by  Mr.  Hughes.  The  former 
work,  especially,  should  be  carefully  studied  by  every  one 
who  contemplates  the  profession  of  teaching. 

GEORGE  BANCROFT  (1800),  the  oldest  and  one  of  the 
most  eminent  of  American  historians,  is  principally  known 
by  his  "  History  of  the  United  States,  from  the  Discovery 
of  the  Continent  to  the  Establishment  of  the  Constitution 
in  1789,"  a  work  of  great  learning  and  marked  research.  A 


416  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES. 

revised  edition  of  his  history  is  DOW  in  process  of  publica- 
tion. Mr.  Bancroft  has  occupied  various  positions  of  honor 
and  dignity. 

PETER  BAYNE,  a  Scotchman  by  birth,  is  the  author  of 
various  critical  and  historical  essays,  some  of  them  excel- 
lent in  style,  and  marked  by  rare  discrimination  and  judg- 
ment. His  essays  have  been  collected  and  published  by  an 
American  house. 

Rev.  JOHN  S.  BREWER  (1810-1879)  was  a  scholar  and 
historian  of  rare  and  varied  attainments,  combined  with 
wonderful  energy  and  application.  His  valuable  services 
in  the  English  Record-Office,  his  arrangement,  classifica- 
tion, and  editing  of  historic  documents,  can  not  be  too 
gratefully  appreciated  by  every  student  of  the  original 
sources  of  history. 

Mr.  JAMES  BRYCE  is  Regius  Professor  of  Civil  Law  in 
the  University  of  Oxford,  and  is  prominent  in  English  po- 
litical life.  His  famous  monograph,  "The  Holy  Roman 
Empire,"  is  unexcelled  as  a  philosophic  discussion  of  a  pro- 
found historical  problem. 

Bishop  GILBERT  BURXET  (1643-1715)  was  the  author  of 
a  "  History  of  the  Reformation  of  the  Church  of  England," 
still  a  work  of  authority,  and  a  "  History  of  My  Own  Times." 
His  estimates  of  character  are  judicious,  and  some  of  his 
delineations  of  men  are  remarkably  interesting,  especially 
his  portraiture  of  William  of  Orange,  to  which  Macaulay's 
brilliant  sketch  of  the  same  great  hero  is  so  largely  in- 
debted. 

THOMAS  CARLYLE  (1795-1881),  a  native  of  Scotland,  has 
long  maintained  an  eminent  position  in  English  literature. 
His  works  are  varied.  Prominent  among  them  may  be  men- 
tioned "  Sartor  Resartus,"  "  Life  of  Frederick  the  Great," 
"  History  of  the  French  Revolution,"  "  Past  and  Present," 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES.  417 

"  The  Life  of  John  Sterling."  Carlyle's  language,  though 
vigorous  and  grammatical,  is  marked  by  an  eccentricity 
that  seems  to  have  increased  with  his  maturer  years.  The 
selection  in  the  text  represents  the  purer  period  of  his 
style,  though  even  there  the  germ  of  the  crotchety  and 
the  extravagant  is  perceptible.  Notwithstanding  these  de- 
fects, his  name  will  long  be  "  a  wand  to  conjure  with  "  in 
English  literature. 

Mr.  EDWARD  A.  FREEMAN  is  principally  known  to  the 
student  of  history  by  his  great  work  on  the  "  Norman  Con- 
quest." It  is  characterized  by  immense  research,  amazing 
knowledge,  and  scrupulous  accuracy.  His  "  Essays,"  "  His- 
torical Geography  of  Europe,"  "  History  of  William  Ru- 
fus,"  abound  in  varied  and  extensive  historical  learning. 
His  "Norman  Conquest"  has  virtually  superseded  all  other 
works  on  the  same  subject,  and  is  entitled  to  rank  among 
the  very  first  historical  productions  of  our  day. 

JAMES  ANTHONY  FROUDE  (1818)  is  principally  distin- 
guished as  the  author  of  a  "  History  of  England  from  the 
Fall  of  Wolsey  to  the  Death  of  Elizabeth."  His  history  is 
the  product  of  immense  labor,  every  sentence,  it  is  said, 
having  been  written  over  three  or  four  times.  The  graces 
of  his  diction  are  fascinating  in  the  extreme,  and  his  repu- 
tation as  a  master  of  style  will  long  survive  his  fame  as  an 
historian.  His  controlling  motive  seems  to  be  a  disposition 
to  reverse  all  our  previous  conceptions  of  historical  char- 
acters, and  to  exalt  to  the  rank  of  patriots  some  that,  by 
the  common  consent  of  mankind,  are  regarded  as  infamous. 
This  criticism  applies  especially  to  his  elaborate  vindication 
of  the  character  of  Henry  VIII.  Mr.  Froude  is  an  English- 
man by  birth  and  education. 

EDWARD  GIBBON  (1737-1794)  still  retains  his  lofty  emi- 
nence in  our  historical  literature,  and  may  be  regarded  as 
the  greatest  of  English  historians.  His  principal  work, 


418  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES. 

"  The  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,"  has  been 
pronounced  by  an  eminent  critic  "  the  most  extraordinary 
exhibition  of  the  powers  of  a  single  mind  that  the  world 
has  ever  seen."  Gibbon's  disingenuous  and  caviling  at- 
tacks upon  the  truths  of  Christianity  constitute  the  great- 
est blemish  upon  his  fame,  and,  considered  from  an  intel- 
lectual standpoint  alone,  they  are  totally  unworthy  of  his 
lofty  powers.  His  style  is  somewhat  cold  and  formal,  never 
rising  to  the  splendid  glow  of  Macaulay,  or  the  fervid  en- 
thusiasm of  Arnold,  in  his  exultations  over  the  triumph 
of  truth. 

JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN,  though  he  was  before  the  world 
as  an  historian  only  a  few  years,  attained  a  most  enviable 
fame  by  his  "  Short  History  of  the  English  People,"  sub- 
sequently enlarged,  and  his  "  Making  of  England."  His 
"  Conquest  of  England  "  appeared  after  his  death.  Seldom 
has  so  brilliant  a  reputation  been  so  speedily  won.  Clear- 
ness, vigorous  execution,  and  an  earnest  endeavor  to  present 
the  truth,  are  the  leading  characteristics  of  his  work.  Mr. 
Green  was  one  of  the  examiners  in  modern  history  in  the 
University  of  Oxford.  He  died  in  1883,  at  the  age  of 
forty-five. 

GEORGE  GROTE  (1794-1871),  an  Englishman  by  birth 
and  a  banker  by  profession,  achieved  a  most  honorable  lit- 
erary fame  by  his  "  History  of  Greece,"  which  is  recognized 
in  all  countries  as  a  work  of  profound  learning  and  rare 
discernment  of  the  political  life  of  Greece. 

FRANCIS  PIERRE  GUILLAUME  GUIZOT  (1787-1874)  holds 
an  illustrious  rank  among  French  historians.  Guizot's  ca- 
reer as  scholar,  historian,  and  statesman,  was  interesting  in 
a  high  degree.  His  most  valuable  works  are  his  "  History 
of  Civilization  in  France,"  "  History  of  Civilization  in  Eu- 
rope," "  History  of  the  English  Revolution,"  and  his  "  His- 
tory of  France,"  adapted  especially  to  young  students. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES.  419 

From  this  last  work  many  of  the  selections  in  the  Reader 
are  taken,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  more  attractive 
introduction  to  the  study  of  history. 

HENRY  HALL  AM  (1777-1859)  is  an  historian  distin- 
guished by  great  sobriety  of  judgment,  rare  caution,  and 
ample  learning.  He  is  principally  known  by  his  "  History 
of  the  Middle  Ages,"  "  Constitutional  History  of  Eng- 
land," and  his  "  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe  in 
the  Fifteenth,  Sixteenth,  and  Seventeenth  Centuries."  The 
last-named  work  is  especially  valuable  to  the  student  of  lit- 
erature. 

JAMES  O.  HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS  is  probably  the  most 
painstaking  and  trustworthy  of  all  Shakespeare's  biog- 
raphers. He  is  also  the  author  of  numerous  contributions 
to  the  study  of  Shakespeare's  mind  and  art. 

DAVID  HUME  (1711-1776),  a  native  of  Scotland,  was  one 
of  the  most  eminent  historians  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
He  is  principally  known  by  his  "  History  of  England,"  a 
work  characterized  by  grace  and  ease  of  style,  but  lacking 
in  independent  original  research,  and  displaying  a  strong 
disposition  to  extenuate  the  crimes  of  arbitrary  power. 
Hume's  fame,  like  that  of  Gibbon,  is  marred  by  his  as- 
saults, in  his  philosophical  works,  upon  the  truths  of  Chris- 
tianity, his  arguments  bein<*  directed  against  the  validity 
of  the  evidence  by  which  the  miracles  recorded  in  Holy 
Scripture  are  attested.  His  history  brings  the  subject 
down  to  1688,  the  time  of  the  abdication  of  James  II. 

EDWARD  HYDE,  Earl  of  Clarendon  (1609-1674),  is  prin- 
cipally eminent  in  the  historical  world  as  the  author  of  the 
"  History  of  the  Rebellion  and  Civil  Wars  in  England,"  a 
royalist  view  of  the  great  struggle  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury in  England,  which  resulted  in  the  temporary  overthrow 

of  the  monarchy,  the  murder  of  King  Charles  I,  and  the  rise 

28 


420  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES. 

of  Oliver  Cromwell  to  absolute  power.  In  reading  Claren- 
don's history,  the  standpoint  of  the  author  should  be  borne 
carefully  in  mind.  The  work  has  decided  merits,  however, 
notwithstanding  the  partisanship  of  the  author. 

WASHINGTON  IRVING  (1783-1859),  a  native  of  New  York, 
is  probably  the  most  genial  and  graceful  writer  America  has 
thus  far  produced.  His  "  Sketch  Book,"  "  Tales  of  a  Trav- 
eler," "  Bracebridge  Hall,"  "  Life  of  Washington,"  "  Life 
and  Voyages  of  Columbus,"  are  his  most  important  works. 
The  tendency  of  his  writings  is  to  please,  refine,  and  elevate. 
Then,  too,  they  are  adapted  to  all  ages  and  conditions,  to 
every  stage  of  development,  and  to  every  state  of  mind. 
Few  authors  of  any  age,  or  any  country,  have  afforded  more 
genuine  pleasure  by  their  writings  than  Washington  Irving. 

WILLIAM  EDWARD  HARTPOLE  LEOKY  (1838),  a  native  of 
Ireland,  has  attained  a  decided  renown  within  the  last  few 
years  by  his  "  History  of  the  Rise  and  Influence  of  the 
Spirit  of  Rationalism  in  Europe,"  "  History  of  European 
Morals  from  Augustus  to  Charlemagne,"  "  England  in  the 
Eighteenth  Century,"  of  which  four  volumes  have  appeared. 
While  many  will  not  concur  in  all  Mr.  Lecky's  views,  no 
impartial  reader  can  fail  to  admire  the  varied  learning  and 
the  vigorous  style  that  characterize  his  works. 

Dr.  JOHN  LINGARD  (1771-1851)  is  principally  known  by 
his  "  History  of  England,"  in  which  the  subject  is  treated 
from  the  Catholic  standpoint.  Dr.  Lingard  is  one  of  the 
most  enlightened  and  impartial  of  the  Catholic  historians, 
and  his  work  still  retains  an  honorable  place  in  our  liter- 
ature. 

THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACAULAY  (1800-1859)  was  a  native 
of  Rothley  Temple,  Leicestershire,  England,  and  was  edu- 
cated at  the  University  of  Cambridge.  No  man  in  this  cen- 
tury has  made  a  deeper  impression  upon  the  literature  of 
the  English  tongue.  It  is  principally  by  his  essays  and  his 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES.  421 

"  History  of  England  "  that  his  name  and  memory  will  be 
preserved  in  all  ages  of  our  literature.  His  "  History  of 
England  "  properly  commences  at  the  accession  of  James 
II,  1685.  His  death  prevented  the  completion  of  his  work, 
which  was  designed  to  include  the  reign  of  George  III. 
Unfortunately,  it  does  not  extend  beyond  the  reign  of 
William  III.  Macaulay  filled  several  positions  of  honor 
and  distinction,  and  in  1857  he  was  created  a  peer,  with 
the  title  of  Baron  Macaulay  of  Rothley.  A  biography  of 
Macaulay,  by  his  nephew,  Mr.  Trevelyan,  appeared  a  few 
years  ago,  and  is  probably  the  most  fascinating  work  of  the 
kind  that  has  been  produced  since  the  time  of  Boswell  and 
Lockhart.  An  extended  estimate  of  Macaulay's  position  as 
a  writer  would  far  exceed  the  limits  of  this  sketch.  An 
accurate  impression  of  his  style  may  be  formed  from  the 
extracts  in  this  volume,  and  it  is  hoped  that  they  will 
induce  the  student  to  read  the  writings  of  Macaulay  for 
himself.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  his  partisanship,  no 
author  in  our  language  is  better  qualified  to  instill  into  the 
student  a  genuine  love  of  historical  reading,  for  no  writer 
more  completely  captivates  the  taste  and  the  imagination 
of  his  readers. 

JOHN  B.  MCMASTER,  the  latest  American  historian,  has 
speedily  won  an  enviable  renown  by  his  "  History  of  the 
People  of  the  United  States,"  of  which  the  first  volume  has 
thus  far  appeared.  His  work  has  been  received  with  cor- 
dial approbation  by  many  capable  critics. 

FRANCOIS  AUGUSTE  MARIE  MIGNET  (1796),  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  French  historians,  is  principally  known 
by  his  excellent  "  History  of  the  French  Revolution,"  from 
which  the  extract  describing  the  causes  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution is  taken,  as  well  as  the  reflections  upon  Napoleon's 
career,  and  the  description  of  his  first  overthrow  in  1814. 

THEODOR  MOMMSEN  (1817),  one  of  the  leading  German 
historians  and  scholars,  and  professor  in  the  University  of 


422  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES. 

Berlin,  is  best  known  in  America  by  his  "  History  of  Rome," 
a  work  characterized  by  the  true  German  spirit  of  patient 
research  and  intense  labor. 

JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY  (1814-1877),  a  native  of  Mas- 
sachusetts, stands  in  the  front  rank  of  American  historians. 
Air.  Motley  devoted  his  talents  to  the  history  of  the  Low 
Countries,  as  his  contemporary  Prescott  selected  for  the 
exercise  of  his  powers  the  great  epochs  of  Spanish  history. 
Motley's  principal  works  are,  "  The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Re- 
public," "  The  History  of  the  United  Netherlands,"  and  the 
"  Life  of  John  van  Barneveld."  His  style  is  inferior  to 
that  of  Prescott  in  ease  and  grace,  but  his  works  are  per- 
vaded by  decided  care,  patient  research,  and  sobriety  of 
judgment.  Motley  occupied  several  honorable  positions, 
such  as  United  States  Minister  to  Austria,  and  to  Engl.-md. 
A  "  Life  of  Motley  "  has  recently  been  published  by  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes. 

Colonel  W.  F.  P.  NAPIER  (1785-1860),  of  the  British 
army,  was  the  author  of  "The  History  of  the  War  in  the 
Peninsula  and  in  the  South  of  France."  His  work  is  one  of 
the  finest  specimens  of  military  history  ever  produced,  and 
still  retains  the  reputation  to  which  its  eminent  merits  so 
thoroughly  entitle  it. 

Sir  FRANCIS  PALGRAVE  (1788-1861)  was  the  author  of 
the  "Anglo-Saxon  Commonwealth,"  and  a  "  History  of  Nor- 
mandy and  England."  Both  are  works  of  great  value  and 
solid  learning. 

CHARLES  PEARSON,  the  author  of  "  England  in  the  Early 
and  Middle  Ages,"  is  an  Englishman  by  birth,  and  is  Pro- 
fessor of  History  in  the  University  of  Melbourne,  in  Austra- 
lia. Professor  Pearson's  history  is  thus  far  little  known  in 
America,  but  its  great  merit  is  fully  appreciated  by  com- 
petent scholars  in  England.  His  work  is  a  most  valuable 
contribution  to  our  knowledge  of  early  English  history. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES.  423 

WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT  (1796-1859),  a  native  of 
Massachusetts,  is,  in  our  judgment,  the  greatest  master  of 
historical  composition  America  has  thus  far  produced.  In 
consequence  of  an  injury  received  while  a  student  of  Har- 
vard University,  he  was  in  great  measure  deprived  of  the 
use  of  his  eyes,  and  during  his  literary  career  he  had  to  con- 
tend with  this  serious  disadvantage.  His  principal  works 
&re  "History  of  the  Reign  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella," 
"  History  of  the  Spanish  Conquest  of  Mexico,"  the  "  Con- 
quest of  Peru,"  as  well  as  various  essays,  critical  and  bio- 
graphical. He  also  edited  Robertson's  ''Charles  V,"  and 
commenced  a  "  Life  of  Philip  II "  of  Spain,  which  he  did 
not  live  to  complete.  The  subject  of  Spanish  history,  which 
he  chose  as  his  own,  afforded  Prescott  an  admirable  field 
for  the  exercise  of  his  high  powers  of  narration  and  descrip- 
tion. In  these  respects  no  American  historian  has  equaled 
him,  and  few  in  any  country  have  surpassed  him.  While 
he  excelled  in  brilliancy  of  style,  he  was  not  lacking  in 
painstaking,  scrupulous  research.  Few  writers  of  so  great 
merit  have  displayed  such  diffidence  and  modesty.  "  Pres- 
cott's  Life "  was  published  in  1864  by  his  friend  George 
Ticknor,  the  historian  of  Spanish  literature. 

LEOPOLD  VON  RANKE  (1795)  is  one  of  the  most  prolific 
historians  that  even  Germany  has  produced.  An  enumera- 
tion of  his  works  would  require  almost  a  catalogue.  Among 
them  may  be  named  "  History  of  the  Popes,"  "  History  of 
the  Reformation,"  "Life  of  Wallcnstein,"  and  "History  of 
England,  principally  in  the  Seventeenth  Century."  His  in- 
dustry, learning,  and  research  are  immense,  nor  do  they 
seem  to  abate  with  advancing  years. 

Dr.  WILLIAM  ROBERTSON  (1721-1793),  a  contemporary 
of  Hume  and  Gibbon,  was  a  native  of  Scotland,  and  a  min- 
ister of  the  Scottish  Church.  His  principal  works  are  a 
"History  of  Scotland  during  the  Reigns  of  Mary  and  James 
VI,"  "  History  of  the  Reign  of  the  Emperor  Charles  V," 


424  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES. 

and  a  "  History  of  America."  Although  Robertson's  works 
have  been  somewhat  superseded  by  later  researches,  they 
are  still  valuable,  and  are,  in  every  respect,  dignified,  dis- 
passionate, and  accurate,  according  to  the  knowledge  of  his 
time.  His  style  is  somewhat  stiff  and  formal,  and  is  occa- 
sionally marred  by  Scotticisms. 

Dr.  WILLIAM  SMITH  (1813)  is  well  known  in  England 
and  America  by  his  series  of  classical  dictionaries  and  his 
valuable  "  Dictionary  of  the  Bible."  He  is  also  the  author 
of  a  "  History  of  Greece,"  and  the  editor  of  numerous  clas- 
sical text-books,  an  "  English  Latin  Dictionary,"  etc. 

WILLIAM  STIRLING  (1818),  a  native  of  Scotland,  is  the 
author  of  the  "  Cloister  Life  of  the  Emperor  Charles  V," 
and  of  several  other  works  devoted  to  art  and  literature. 
Stirling  is  highly  commended  by  Prescott,  a  most  capable 
judge  in  all  matters  relating  to  the  history  of  Charles  V. 

WILLIAM  STUBBS,  Professor  of  Modern  History  in  the 
University  of  Oxford,  is  the  author  of  a  "  Constitutional 
History  of  England,"  which  seems  to  be  superseding  all 
similar  treatises.  His  "  Charters  "  are  also  publications  of 
great  value  to  the  student  of  English  history.  His  illustri- 
ous friend  Mr.  Edward  A.  Freeman  has  styled  him  "the 
first  of  living  scholars." 

NOTE  TO  TEACHERS. — Teachers  who  desire  more  extensive  information 
respecting  these  authors  are  advised  to  consult  the  following  works : 
Allibone's  "  Dictionary  of  Authors,"  Morley's  "  First  Sketch  of  English 
Literature,"  Morley's  "  Tables  of  English  Literature,"  Chambere's  "  Cyclo- 
paedia of  English  Literature,"  Duyckinck's  "  Cyclopaedia  of  American  Lit- 
erature," Appletons'  "Cyclopaedia,"  or  the  "Encyclopaedia  Britannica." 

Teachers  who  desire  to  consult  additional  historical  authorities  are  re- 
ferred to  Professor  C.  K.  Adams's  "  Manual  of  Historical  Literature,"  and 
to  "  Methods  of  Teaching  and  Studying  History,"  edited  by  Professor  G. 
Stanley  Hall 

/^^- 

THE    END.     f  3.SIT 

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WEBSTER'S  SCHOOL   DICTIONARIES. 

REVISED    EDITIONS. 


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WEBSTER'S    HIGH    SCHOOL    DICTIONARY. 

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Abridged  directly  from  the  International  Dictionary,  and  giving  the  orthography, 
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SPECIAL    EDITIONS. 

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In  Roan  Flexible 69 

In  Roan   Tucks 78 

Webster's  American  People's  Dictionary  and  Manual     .        .  .48 

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For  the  Study  of  Literature 

Matthews'  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  American  Literature. 
By  Brander  Matthews,  Professor  of  Literature  in  Columbia  Col- 
lege. Cloth,  1 2mo,  256  pages, $i.OO 

A  text-book  of  literature  on  an  original  plan,  admirably  designed  to 

guide,  to  supplement  and  to  stimulate  the  student's  reading  of  American 

authors. 

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Seven  American  Classics,  containing  choice  literary  selections  from 
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Cloth,  1 2mo,  217  pages 50  cents 

Smith's  Studies  in  English  Literature,  containing  complete  selec- 
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Cloth,  I2mo,  427  pages, $1.20 

Cathcart's  Literary  Reader.     A  manual  of  English  Literature  con- 
taining   typical    selections   from    the   best    British   and   American 
authors,  with  biographical  and  critical  sketches,  portraits  and  fac- 
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[79] 


Eclectic  English  Classics  for  Schools. 


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Emerson's  American  Scholar,  Self-Reliance,  and  Compensation  .     .20 

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Goldsmith's  Vicar  of  Wakefield  . 35 

Irving's  Sketch  Book — Selections          .  20 

Tales  of  a  Traveler 50 

Macaulay's  Second  Essay  on  Chatham 20 

Essay  on  Milton      .........     .20 

Essay  on  Addison  .........     .20 

Life  of  Samuel  Johnson  ........       20 

Milton's  L' Allegro,  II  Penseroso,  Comus,  and  Lycidas         .         .     .20 

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The  Abbot 60 

Woodstock 60 

Shakespeare's  Julius  Caesar 20 

Twelfth  Night 20 

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As  You  Like  It 20 

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An  Introduction  to  the 

Study  of  American    Literature 

BY  BRANDER  MATTHEWS 

Professor  of  Literature  in  Columbia  College 

Cloth,  I2mo,  256  pages        -  Price,  $1.00 


A  text-book  of  literature  on  an  original  plan,  and  conforming  with 
the  best  methods  of  teaching. 

Admirably  designed  to  guide,  to  supplement,  and  to  stimulate  the 
student's  reading  of  American  authors. 

Illustrated  with  a  fine  collection  of  facsimile  manuscripts,  portraits 
of  authors,  and  views  of  their  homes  and  birthplaces. 

Bright,  clear,  and  fascinating,  it  is  itself  a  literary  work  of  high  rank. 

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from  one  who  is  himself  a  master.  The  work  is  rounded  out  by  four 
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history  and  conditions  of  our  literature  as  a  whole  ;  and  there  is  at  the 
end  of  the  book  a  complete  chronology  of  the  best  American  literature 
from  the  beginning  down  to  1896. 

Each  of  the  fifteen  biographical  sketches  is  illustrated  by  a  fine 
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